Eidetic Memory Not Needed
by ifdragonscouldtalk
Summary: The SPBD finds themselves in deep water with a kidnapping and murder case. With no leads, five dead, and Shawn being banned from investigating, they call in the BAU, hoping that the case will end without more bloodshed. When connection is made between Shawn and the murders, is someone trying to get at him? Just how far will they go? (Rated T for future language and whump)
1. Anxiety of Shawn Spencer

**AN: This is my first fanfic in years, I had the idea in my head for a few days and it wouldn't stop bugging me until I wrote it down so I hope someone else likes it. This first chapter isn't super exciting and most of the terminology I use for the profiling is complete bullcrap so don't hold me to anything I say okay? I do have the second chapter already written but I don't know if I'll post it today or in a few days, I guess it depends on whether I get some feedback or not. I would love to hear your opinions. There will be foul language and Shawn/Reid whump in later chapters (because I love beating them up), but no character death. I'll be working through problems as I write so if you notice anything feel free to tell me. Also, the statistics Reid uses in this chapter were from a CNN poll I found googling "statistics on psychics" so...**

"Sorry to call you all out so suddenly, but this one is urgent." Hotch and JJ were passing out folders as the others unbuckled their seatbelts, the jet having just taken off. All seven of the team looked weary and tired, suppressing yawns.

"Let's just do the briefing so we can get some sleep before we land," Emily sighed as Morgan set up a laptop to connect to Garcia.

"Right," JJ said sympathetically, wishing she was still in bed with Will and Henry. Hotch took up his usual seat, Rossi and Reid already flipping through the file. "So far there have been five deaths, three women and two men, all aged from 21 to 29. Each were reported missing three days before their bodies were discovered on various trails. The dump sites are all secluded but easy to spot from the trails - luckily the trails are fairly well-used, or the bodies wouldn't be discovered as soon as they have been. All show signs of struggle and ligature marks, as well as signs of torture."

"Sexual sadist?" Reid threw out, glancing up.

"Looks like it," Hotch replied, studying the file himself with a frown. "Though there was no evidence of sexual assault on any of the bodies."

"The women look far more worse for wear," Morgan chimed in, glancing at the file as the laptop booted up.

"So he's degrading them," Prentiss muttered, flipping through the various reports. "Maybe they represent someone in his life, his mother or a lover."

"I don't think so," Rossi said, studying the crime scene photos. "Rather than the women being treated more harshly, it seems that the men were simply treated with more care. Look at the stab wounds - the only difference between them on the men and the women is that it's cleaner on the men, as if the unsub were taking more time with them or felt less nervous."

"It could be someone trying to explore their sexuality. The women all came first, so we he felt no gratification he could have moved on to men," Reid suggested, looking up as Garcia finally came on screen.

"Good evening my lovelies," she chirped, looking rather tired as well but still as perky as usual.

"Hey Garcia, can you get everything you have on the victims?" Hotch asked, leaning forward.

"You got it Boss-man. Garcia out." The screen went blank again and the jet was quiet except for the engines humming as everyone turned back to the files at hand.

"There was one other thing that was mentioned to me," JJ spoke up again after a short silence. "They said they wanted to keep it out of the news so that the public wasn't alarmed, but there was a rather high amount of methamphetamines in the victims' blood. The police are afraid this has to do with cartel activity. They thought they were out of their league, so they called us in."

"It's good they did, if it is a cartel this won't stop soon," Morgan mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He had a feeling this case wasn't going to be easy.

"Was that the cause of death, overdose?" Reid asked. JJ nodded at him, sighing and sinking into a seat herself.

"Well, let's all try to get some sleep. It's going to be a long day," Hotch mimicked Morgan, shaking his head before closing his copy of the file.

"Where are we going anyway?" Prentiss asked, looking up at JJ. JJ glanced over at her, smiling a bit.

"Santa Barbara, California."

* * *

Shawn knew something big was happening. He also knew it had something to do with the case of the bodies found on the hiking trails around Santa Barbara, a case which not only his father, but also the Chief, Lassiter (no surprise), Gus, _and_ Juliet had demanded he stay away from. He didn't understand why - he didn't match the victim type (he was too old) and he wasn't a drug user either, so he wouldn't be caught dead near a cartel (unless he was investigating and got into trouble, he supposed). They all insisted it was too dangerous, and this one time he listened to them. Something about the whole crime didn't sit right with him. Even when he had managed to sneak onto the third crime scene (before being kicked out graciously by McNab), he hadn't seen anything that would've helped, and it frustrated him to no end. He had dealt with serial killers before and had no trouble treating them like any other crime... but this one was different, and it made him nervous.

So when he walked into the tense atmosphere of the police station that morning his anxiety skyrocketed, not that he let it show. He tried his best to avoid the scuttling officers as he made his way over to Jules' and Lassie's desks. Lassie looked up, but before he could say anything Shawn deposited a coffee and breakfast sandwich on the small clear space on his neat desk. Lassie looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Spencer..."

"Lassie-face! Don't worry, I didn't poison it - I know you've been working really hard on the case, and I don't want you to get any skinnier than you already are." He flashed an award winning grin, meaning what he said whole-heartedly. Lassiter was apparently too tired to come up with a snarky comeback, simply nodding gratefully as he scooped up the coffee and nursed it carefully. Shawn blinked at this, taken aback, but continued jauntily on to Jules' desk, perching on the corner.

"Hey Shawn," Jules chirped, looking only marginally better than her partner.

"Morning Jules! I brought breakfast. Got time for a bite?" Shawn grinned, handing her the other coffee. Jules glanced down at her watch with a small sigh, then glanced back up at Shawn, smiling back.

"I have about fifteen minutes. That good enough?"

"Perfect!" Shawn cried, clapping his hands before stealing a chair from and empty desk nearby as Jules cleared a space on her own desk. They didn't talk much as they ate: Shawn could tell she was exhausted, despite her being able to hide it well. Everyone at the department was. The case was taking its toll, and it irked him that there was nothing he could do about it.

"So where's Gus?" Juliet finally asked, looking a little better now that she had food and coffee in her.

"Oh, you know Gus. Always having his other fake job to run to." Shawn flashed a grin. In all honesty, Gus was sleeping in, having been looking under the weather since before the murders started. Shawn worried a bit, and Gus was more irritable than usual, even going so far as to yell at Shawn. But he didn't take it personally, he knew Gus wasn't feeling good and Gus had already texted him an apology. But Gus wouldn't want anyone to worry, just like Shawn wouldn't if he was in that position, so he made Shawn promise not to tell unless he got worse. As it was, he was taking cold medicine from his pharmaceutical kit. "What's going on around here?" Jules let out a long sigh.

"Chief called in the FBI for this one. We haven't gotten anywhere and the killings aren't slowing down. They should be arriving in," Jules glanced at her watch again, "Ten minutes. Their flight touched down about half an hour ago, so they're on their way here." Shawn remembered the last time he had a run in with an FBI agent, but pushed it aside for his excitement.

"Can I meet them?" Jules gave him an indulgent smile.

"I'm sure the Chief won't mind. But don't bother them, okay? We have to be on good behavior, _not_ like last time Shawn. And no, you still aren't on the case," she chuckled as Shawn opened his mouth again. She sipped her coffee as Shawn rose and cleaned up, glancing over to where Lassiter had passed out snoring on his desk. Jules followed his gaze, both of them laughing.

"We'll wake him in a few minutes," Shawn said. He had to admit, Lassie was pushing himself even farther than usual for this case, and it wasn't good for him. He deserved a little sleep. Jules nodded, leaning back in her own seat and letting her eyes drift shut.

"He hated having to call in the FBI. He thinks the Chief thinks he isn't competent enough to solve the case."

"He knows it's not that," Shawn laughed. "He just has a big old ego that needs to be filled."

"Shut up, Spencer," Lassie snapped from his desk before going back to snoring. Shawn opened his mouth, shocked, and looked over at the laughing Juliet.

"That's- But-" He sputtered, before bursting into laughter himself.

"They're coming!" Buzz suddenly called, peering out the doors of the station. Activity tripled as Juliet and Lassiter jumped to their feet, straightening their clothes and racing to the doors, the Chief emerging from her office looking harried. Shawn blinked before leaping up and following them, hovering behind Juliet and the Chief, glancing through the windows.

Pulling up were two large, black SUVs. As they stopped several intimidating men and women and one not so intimidating man climbed out, all glancing around as they took in their surroundings. Chief Vick had rushed out to meet them, shaking all their hands as they exchanged greetings before leading them into the precinct. Shawn had to admit, these guys looked a lot more like they meant business than the last FBI agents he had encountered.

As they entered he felt their eyes settle on him where he was hovering beside Juliet. After all, he was a man in civilian clothing but not in cuffs, in the middle of a police station. Vick introduced the two detectives, her mouth forming a thin line when she saw Shawn. He knew she was worried, but these guys gave him enough anxiety to make him behave.

"And this is our consultant, psychic detective Shawn Spencer." Eyebrows went up. The not-very-threatening-but-quite-tall young man tilted his head, studying him. Shawn studied back, curious.

"Psychic?" the most controlled looking but also most dangerous looking man echoed, and suddenly Shawn felt very small and very scared. These seemed like the kind of guys that could see right through him. He simply nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth.

"You know, 57% of Americans believe in psychic phenomena," the tall young man informed, looking up from his studying. Two of his coworkers started laughing. The dark-skinned man next to him clapped a hand on his shoulder and laughed "Good to know."

Apparently the leader - Shawn could only assume he was the leader, as he was at the front and had been addressing Chief Vick - decided to drop the subject for now and glanced at the detectives and Shawn as he ran through introductions once more.

"SSA Hotchner, this is SSA Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, JJ, and Dr. Reid." Shawn only felt slightly better now that he knew the names of these people who could potentially ruin his career. He knew the looks they were giving him - they were the same looks he gave everyone else or a crime scene when he was studying it. Dr. Reid waved slightly and Shawn couldn't resist grinning back.

Lassie and Jules shook hands with everyone while Shawn kept his own hands firmly lodged in his pockets. He felt these people would be able to pick up on his nervousness, but he was good at hiding it (lots of practice) and bounced on the balls of his feet with energy. Agent JJ turned back to the Chief.

"Is your consultant working on this case? We really can't advise that, given the violence of the murders."

"No, he's not. In fact, I'm not quite sure why he's here..." Vick shot him an accusing look and Jules quickly stepped up to his defense.

"He brought breakfast for us, Chief. He won't be in the way, he just wanted to meet the agents." Shawn grinned disarmingly and Vick gave a terse nod.

"Well it's nice to meet you," Agent Hotchner gave a small smile. Shawn blinked. He didn't think the man knew how to smile. "Though, personally, I don't believe in psychics." Lassiter snorted.

"You and me both."

"Oh don't worry, I'm used to that." Shawn shot back his own smile, ignoring Lassie.

"Despite his title, he has been invaluable to the department," Vick offered, and Hotch nodded, glancing at JJ.

"We might just need him then," he muttered before following the rest of his team to the small briefing room Shawn was so used to where they had already begin to set up. Shawn glanced at Chief Vick.

"Does that mean I should stick around?"


	2. Spencer Squared

"This is the Goddess of the Information Superhighway, how can I help you?"

"Hey baby, what've you got for us?" Morgan grinned. Reid was leaning over his shoulder, and Prentiss and Rossi were setting up the board at the other end of the room.

"Okay, well trying to find connections between the victims was a bust, they don't even all have the same bank. I'm cross-referencing phone records right now but that could take some time. All of them grew up in middle class households, the third woman's parents died in a car crash when she was seventeen. Other than that, I've drawn a blank so far, sorry chocolate thunder. How's Santa Barbara?"

"The police department has a psychic," Reid spoke up, his eyes sparkling. Garcia gasped.

"A psychic? When do I get to meet him!"

"He's not a real psychic, those don't exist," Emily called from across the room.

"Actually, there's no evidence to prove that they do or don't exist," Reid rocketed off. "So he could be a psychic." Morgan snorted.

"He's not a psychic, he's just a damn good profiler. He was looking at us the same way we look at any unsub. I know that look anywhere."

"Whoever he is, I want to meet him," Garcia squealed, clearly excited.

"Well, here he comes. Apparently Hotch commandeered him, and the kid doesn't look too happy about it," Rossi chuckled as he hung up another photo. Morgan chuckled as Garcia squealed again, her hands clapping together. Reid stood up, watching as Hotch led JJ and Shawn Spencer into the room, the detectives following close behind. The Chief had probably gone back to her own office to handle some politics or other cases. The resident psychic did look distinctly uncomfortable, but that was probably due to the fact that Detective Lassiter was hissing something angrily in his ear, and Shawn kept trying to shy away from him without responding or making a big deal out of it. Irritation flashed over the psychic's face, and it was clear he was used to being able to deal with the detective verbally, but probably felt he needed to be on better behavior in front of the FBI.

"Lassie, would you stop?" Reid heard the psychic hiss, not unkindly, before he stepped away from the taller man, who looked completely livid. The female detective, Detective O'Hara, put a restraining hand on his arm, and Lassiter glanced at her, let out a sigh, and visibly calmed down. Shawn seemed to notice they were drawing attention, because he suddenly broke into a broad grin and threw his arms out. "Welcome to our lair, Agents!" he chirped in an obvious attempt to cut the tension. Rossi, at the other end of the room, chuckled, and Morgan shook his head. Hotch had a strange look on his face.

"Shawn!" Detective O'Hara hissed, and the psychic shot her a look, lowering his arms.

"It's fine, Detective," Hotch assured her, shaking his head. "With a case like this, we could all use some humor." The grin was back on Shawn's face. "Besides, we heard he's been very useful to his department."

"He's a menace," Detective Lassiter shot off before he seemed to realize what he was saying and froze dead. Hotch tilted his head curiously.

"What he means to say," Detective O'Hara sighed, defusing the situation, "is that Shawn's methods are... unique. But it is undeniable that he is a valuable resource. There isn't a case he's been on that he hasn't solved."

"Before putting someone in danger," Detective Lassiter grumbled, and Shawn looked stricken and embarrassed.

"Lassie, you know I don't do it on purpose! I'm not the one putting people in danger, it's the criminals with the weapons!" Lassiter opened his mouth to shoot back a retort but seemed to rethink it as he saw the amused looks on the agents' faces.

"Is that the psychic?" Garcia's voice came in a stage whisper from the computer's speakers. Both detectives jumped, and Emily held back a snicker.

"Yes, baby girl, that's the psychic," Morgan chuckled as he beckoned Shawn forward. The man seemed nervous, glancing at Juliet, who nodded, before going around the table to the computer, leaning down behind Morgan and waving.

"Psychic Detective Shawn Spencer, at your service, my lady," he sung with a cheeky smile.

"So you're really psychic?" Garcia asked, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Of course I am, what else would I be?"

"A damn good liar," Morgan muttered, and he heard Detective Lassiter snort across the room. Shawn chose not to respond.

"Why, who are you?"

"Penelope Garcia," was all Garcia said. Shawn grinned at her.

"Nice to meet you, Penelope."

"Garcia."

"Alright, Garcia," he corrected, still smiling. Agent Hotchner cleared his throat.

"If we're done with the pleasantries..."

Everyone took a seat around the table. Shawn was glad he was seated next to Agent Dr. Reid, who seemed nice, but mortified that he was also seated next to Agent Morgan, who acted like Shawn might try to take Dr. Reid's head off at any moment. "What do you have so far, Detectives?" Hotch asked, looking at Jules and Lassie. The two glanced at each other before letting out long sighs.

"Honestly? A whole lot of nothing," Lassiter responded, rubbing his forehead. "No fingerprints, no DNA, no murder weapon, no witnesses. No connections between the victims. We've been tracking down people known to be connected to the cartels, but they all claim not to know anything about the crimes, and without probable cause we can't keep them."

Shawn tuned out the conversation as ideas were tossed around, studying the board set up across the room. As far as he could tell, there were no connections between the victims. He wracked his brain for anything that would help the agents, something that he had missed before when sneaking a look at the files, but came up blank. All the victims were single, kept to themselves, owned their own apartments. Three were white, one was black, and one was Hispanic. If the timeline was correct, another body would be found tomorrow - most likely Tommy Munich, who had been reported missing two days ago and fit the age range.

Agent Hotchner's voice drew Shawn out of his musings. He was addressing his team. "Reid, you stay here and work on the geographical profile. Rossi, Prentiss, you go to the first two crime scenes and see what you can find. Morgan and I will go to the last three. JJ, work with the Detectives to see if you can find anything connecting the victims, since Garcia couldn't dig up anything. We'll reconvene here at dinner." Shawn blinked at being left out of the planning, glancing up as everyone around him began to rise and grab their coats, but he decided not to say anything. He didn't feel like drawing attention to himself, not now that he knew these people were profilers.

* * *

As it was, Spencer Reid had no problem with Shawn Spencer, whether he was psychic or not. He found the man incredibly easy to talk to, in fact, and talk they did. Shawn could provide a lot of information on the victims, but nothing that wasn't in the files already, which Spencer knew already. He contributed best he could to the geographical profile, and suggested places within the boundaries Spencer finally determined where the victims were likely to meet the unsub: a supermarket, a library, a church, a soup kitchen. But Spencer could tell Shawn was troubled about something when they finally did finish the geographical profile, which took most of the day and was finished just before the others got back for dinner of Chinese takeout.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked, not sure he would get an answer. Shawn glanced up and flashed a small smile.

"It's just..." He finally sighed and pointed to a place on the map, right in the middle of the profiled area. "That's my new apartment." He bit his lip, glancing up at Spencer. "So, I hope you can tell me you think that's a coincidence man, because I'm having a hard time thinking it." Reid blinked, looking back down at the point on the map. It was right in the middle of where the victims were last seen.

"It's kind of hard to think that's a coincidence, certainly." Spencer could tell the psychic's anxiety spiked with his words and immediately bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to make his new friend nervous.

"This implicates me, doesn't it? Do you think Agent Hotchner will find me suspect?" Reid studied Shawn's face, watching his body language closely, before shaking his head.

"Hotch won't, because it's pretty clear you didn't do this. Despite the fact that many serial killers like to insert themselves into investigations, you've been investigating for far longer than the killings have been going on, and you show no evidence of sadism." It was complete bullshit, but it seemed to put Shawn at ease.

"You're bullshiting me, man," Shawn laughed after a moment. "But thanks." Spencer smiled a bit. "Really though, am I a suspect now?" Reid tilted his head, considering how to answer.

"If you are, I'll vouch for you." Shawn blinked, seeming surprised, before breaking into a grin.

"Thanks."

Reid was about to say something else, but his phone started to ring. He flipped it open without looking at the caller ID. "Spencer Reid."

" _Hey Reid, it's Morgan. Hotch and I didn't find anything, and Prentiss and Rossi just called to say the same thing. We've been out all day, so we're just going to head back to the hotel and order in. We can discuss the case before bed, Hotch says. I'll come pick you up?"_

"Sure. I want to show you the geographical profile anyway. Shawn and I noticed something that might be important." Spencer glanced at the psychic to see him listening in, his head tilted in thought.

"You think these have something to do with me?" he whispered, suddenly coming to the same conclusion Reid had. Spencer watched Shawn for a moment before deciding not to answer.

" _Alright man, I'll be there in about twenty minutes, I just need to drop Hotch off."_

"Okay, we already ordered Chinese so we can eat here if you like?"

" _Sounds good."_

Reid flipped his phone closed as Shawn sunk into a chair, staring at the map. "Damn," he muttered. "This could be about me...?" He looked up at Reid. "They could be dead because-" He broke off, looking down at the map again. He almost hoped that they had done something wrong, but he knew they hadn't. Spencer, if not him, was too smart for that.

"It's just a theory I have," Spencer tried to reassure him, but he had a sickening feeling that this was much bigger than they originally thought.

Shawn had just left to make more coffee when Morgan walked in laden down with Chinese. "I intercepted the delivery guy on the way in here," he said with a grin, before he saw the grave look on Reid's face and his smile fell. He put down the food. "What's going on, kid?"

"I think this is a lot more complicated than we thought."

A second later Detective Lassiter stormed in, trailed by Shawn, who carried two cups of coffee, offering one to Morgan. "Jules and JJ will be here in a minute, they're interviewing MaryKate's mother."

"The second victim?" Morgan asked as he sipped the coffee thankfully. Shawn nodded confirmation. Lassiter glanced at Shawn before speaking up.

"Spencer said that you guys found something?" Shawn and Reid both looked up, and Shawn started laughing.

"That could get confusing Lassie. Dr. Reid's first name is Spencer. Perhaps you can call me Shawn for just one case?" Lassie shook his head, drinking his own coffee as he sank gratefully into a seat and pulled some orange chicken towards him.

"What did you find anyway?" Shawn heaved a sigh, sitting in a chair himself and placing the other coffee next to Spencer. Morgan had gone around behind Reid, studying the map.

"This the profile?" Spencer nodded, pointing to a spot in the middle.

"That's Shawn's apartment." Shawn thought Lassie was going to spit out his coffee. "I wanted a second opinion," Reid said, looking up at Morgan. "Do you think this is a coincidence?" Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, studying the map before slowly shaking his head, glancing at the psychic.

"Probably not." Shawn visibly wilted, resting his head in his hands. Lassiter, for his part, looked livid, and obviously didn't come to the same conclusion as the rest of them.

"Get up, Spencer," he growled, grabbing Shawn's shoulder. "You're going to tell me where Tommy is."

"Lassie- Lassie what the hell! I didn't do it, man! Someone's trying to get at me!" Shawn seemed stricken and confused, surprised that Lassiter could even think such a thing was done by him. The detective was having none of it, and Morgan rushed over to pull the taller man off.

"Detective! _Detective_! He didn't do it!"

"How do you know? I wouldn't put it past him! I bet that's why he became a private investigator - he likes looking at the bodies! But that's not enough for him anymore!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Shawn said weakly, sinking down into a chair again, and Lassiter finally froze, staring at the man.

"It really wasn't you, was it?"

"No," Shawn said in a small voice, trying to chuckle. "But, thanks for the vote of confidence, Lassie. Glad you have such high expectations of me." He covered his face, wracking his brain. "I can't even think of anyone who would do this," he said weakly. "I don't know, man, I don't know what's happening."

"Can't you just ask the spirits?" Lassiter shot at him with only a little bit of mirth. Shawn looked up at him, and Lassiter was stricken by the lost look on his face.

"Man, don't you think I have?"

Silence fell in the room, and Shawn stared at the map, suddenly not feeling hungry. "Well," Reid said timidly, "maybe you and I can work out a list of people who would potentially like to target you." Shawn nodded, moving over to a seat beside Spencer, and the two began to talk. Morgan watched as Spencer cheered the older man up considerably, both of them quickly devolving into rattling off different facts or stories they'd heard. He retreated to the other side of the table, eager to start eating himself, and heard Detective Lassiter following him. He took a long drink of his coffee, sighing.

Presently, somehow, Shawn had gotten Reid onto one of his tangents, and was hanging on every word with surprised interest, even asking questions. And Morgan found himself unable to _stand_ it. _Why_ were they both so loud and _incredibly_ annoying?

Apparently he wasn't the only one annoyed, because the same time he opened his mouth he heard an annoyed shout of " _Spencer!_ " Both of the men at the other end of the table flinched, looking up.

"Yeah, Lassie-face?" Shawn answered, as Reid seemed slightly taken aback.

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Detective Lassiter growled.

"Oh Lassie, you know I have a hard time doing that on the best of days." Lassiter slammed his hands down on the table and stood up, causing Reid to stand as well.

"Morgan!" he called anxiously, positive he wouldn't be able to diffuse the situation.

"Oh shut up, Reid," Morgan heard himself snarl, to his own surprise. "No one likes your little spiels anyway, always having to prove how goddamn smart you are, aren't you?!" Reid took a step back like he had been physically struck, paling slightly.

"M-Morgan- I-" Shawn had stood up by this point, staring at Lassiter and Morgan.

"Spencer, something's wrong with them."

" _You're_ what's wrong with me, Spencer!" Lassiter shouted angrily before launching across the room. "I don't know how you fooled these agents, but I know you killed those people! You're under arrest!"

"Las- Detective Lassiter- Please, just calm down man, you know I didn't do it-!" Shawn stumbled back, placing his body between Spencer and Lassiter, which Morgan thought was admirable, before grabbing the lanky agent's hand and running for the door.

Morgan's rage was bubbling up - this fake psychic was trying to resist arrest - and positioned himself between them and the door. Lassiter grabbed Shawn's arm and yanked him away from Spencer, throwing him on the ground. Spencer seemed to shake out of his shock and pulled his gun, pointing it at the detective. "Let him go, now."

Lassiter froze, glaring at Spencer, as Morgan drew his own gun and flipped the safety off, pressing it against the back of Spencer's head. Oh God, how he would love to pull the trigger and be rid of the damned smart-ass once and for all. Reid froze. "Drop it," Morgan growled, and slowly Reid complied, pushing it across the table next to him. The detective grinned as Shawn looked up in horror, his hands being cuffed behind his back. Morgan reached over and locked the door.

"Detective, what do you say we get some answers from that guy?"

Everything seemed to blur for Reid. He didn't understand what was going on, but Morgan's hateful words echoed sharply in his head while he watched on with horror as Lassiter proceeded to beat the shit out of Shawn Spencer. Shawn scrambled to his feet as best he could, trying to get the table between him and Lassie, but a sharp kick to his knees brought him down again, and a fist to his face drew a cry.

" _Where is Tommy Munich?!"_

"I don't know, Lassiter, I don't know!" he wailed, curling up the best he could to protect himself from the attacks. Lassiter grabbed his shoulders and picked him up, throwing him into the evidence board. A well placed kick to the ribs gave a sickening crack and a scream, and Lassiter's face was twisted with rage. Reid started forward - he needed to stop this - but Morgan's strong grip drew him back, a gun pressed to his jaw leaving him breathless in terror.

"You're fucking useless, Reid," he heard the hiss in his ear. "You can't even stop one simple public disturbance."

"You aren't stopping it either," Reid replied, unable to stop his mouth, and he felt the gun draw back before a sharp pain in his temple sent him sprawling to the floor, blood trickling down his face, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

"You're always the smart assed little bitch, aren't you Reid?!" Morgan's foot connected with his stomach and he cried out, tears coming to his eyes. He could hear Shawn wailing, and someone trying to unlock the door. He scrambled under the table to escape Morgan's wrath, and heard the older man laughing hysterically.

"You're so fucking weak! How did you become an FBI agent?!"

There was his gun, on the floor on the other side of the table.

But before he could get to it, Shawn landed on his back next to it, and time seemed to slow as Shawn and Spencer locked eyes in horror. Reid could see the detective's hand reach down and pick up his own discarded gun, could hear the safety click off. He could see as Shawn turned his head, the complete terror in his eyes that started to stream tears. And then he could feel a hand on his ankle, drawing him out before a foot stomped down on his shin, undeniably cracking it and making him scream shrilly.

Then the door burst open and the room was swarming with SPBD cops, Detective Juliet and JJ in the lead.

"Lassiter!" Juliet cried, her gun pointed at her partner, while JJ's own gun was trained on Morgan, her jaw locked like she might be sick. Both of the attacking men were sweating and shaking now, looking worse for wear.

"There was something in the coffee," Spencer sobbed in the sudden silence, gripping his leg. "They're on something. There was something in the coffee." There was ragged breathing from Shawn on the other side of the table, small whimpers filling the room.

And then Morgan and Lassiter both collapsed, their eyes rolling back, and the room was filled with movement again.

 **AN: Sorry for the cliffhanger, this is what I have written up until this point. I know the story is really confusing right now, I might rewrite this chapter? But hopefully things start to get clearer and make more sense. I don't know when I'll update next, I have a couple projects due in the next few weeks I need to work on, but reviews would be greatly appreciated.**


	3. The Tragedy of Burton Guster

**AN: Thanks to that one person who followed this story! I hope it gets better and you like it. I'll try to update every two days, I know that's pretty long but I have over 1,000 words per chapter so maybe that makes up for it? That's the only time I can write so I'll try my best to stay on schedule... Anyway, this chapter ends pretty anti-climatically but it's what I had written and there really wasn't a good place to stop the chapter. I know a lot of people are going to think Shawn is pretty ooc in this chapter but I don't really think so considering the situation he's in. Anyway, I hope you like it, not much happens in this chapter but it's still pretty important.**

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The four men were sharing a hospital room. Reid wanted to be checked out as soon as his leg was set, but he was badly shaken and the doctors convinced his team not to leave until the next morning, saying they could give him a sedative to make him sleep better (which Reid stalwartly refused, to no one's surprise). Shawn was quiet as he watched Lassiter and Morgan have their stomachs pumped, and the BAU team noticed that the psychic's friends seemed unnerved at his silence and stillness. Spencer tried to start up a conversation with the other male, but Shawn only looked over, his face pale, and whispered "Someone got into the station. I had just made that coffee." He looked back over at Detective Lassiter and didn't speak again for awhile. When he did, the room was quiet except for the sound of the heart monitors and Shawn's father's snoring, and what he said hit Spencer like a truck.

"If you had drank your cup as well, I think I would be dead."

"Methamphetamines," was the first thing Hotch said when he walked into the room a couple hours later. It was dark out now, around eight o'clock, and he offered a folder for Reid to look over, for which the younger man was grateful. He was going stir crazy. "They overdosed, the same drug used to kill the five victims."

"So it's not a coincidence." Spencer looked over and saw the psychic staring, his eyes looking lost and more than a little scared. It was the loudest he had spoken since he had woken up and gotten the extent of his injuries (a cracked rib, two broken ribs, another bruised rib, a broken wrist, a mild concussion, a dislocated shoulder; all in all, it could have been worse, but it also could have been better, and Reid thought that Detective Lassiter must have one hell of an arm). Shawn met Agent Hotchner's eyes and saw no emotion in them, nothing that could comfort him or tell him he was wrong.

"No, it was definitely intentional," Hotch said slowly, and Reid could tell he was holding something back. He shifted through the files in front of him, staring at a written report even after he had quickly read it. Before he could say anything, Shawn spoke up.

"You're hiding something. Something that makes you suspicious of me." Hotch didn't speak for a moment.

"We watched the security footage. No one touched the coffee except you, when you went to make the new pot. We watched the footage for the whole day, and only my agents, your Chief, and you touched the coffee." Reid almost laughed - he didn't blame the other officers for not touching the coffee, they probably went out and bought something better on their breaks. Shawn sagged back onto his pillows, staring at the ceiling.

"So you think it was me. Or, you don't, because you're telling me and not interrogating me, but any judge and jury would think it was me." Hotch didn't respond.

"Hotch," Reid started, looking up at his boss, "there's no way it was Shawn. We finished the geographical profile - someone's targeting him. I think that-" He stopped suddenly, realizing it wouldn't be a good idea to talk about the case like this in front of Shawn, but the psychic continued for him.

"They're murders are in place of sex crimes, aren't they?" He laughed coldly. "I've got some sick bastard after my ass, thinking that trying out a woman or another guy will satisfy him."

Hotch's face was stony. "You're perceptive." Shawn shot him a glance before gesturing to the sleeping form of Henry Spencer in the chair next to him.

"My father was a detective, Agent, and I'm a psychic." The lie rolled off his tongue easily. "I've seen sexual sadists before, though I doubt I've seen as many as you."

"I doubt that as well. We'll schedule a guard outside the room for now." Hotch glanced at his younger agent. "Call me if something happens or if Morgan wakes up?" Reid nodded as Hotch pulled out his ankle gun, placing it on the bedside table next to Reid.

"You think he's going to target Shawn directly now?" Hotch hesitated.

"He's somewhere inside," Shawn supplied instead. "He tampered with the coffee and knows about the investigation. He either thought you guys were getting too close to him, or he thought you... were getting too close to me." He grit his teeth, glancing at Spencer. "Don't mention this to my dad when he wakes up. He'll freak out."

"If it's the second option, which I hope it's not, it's less likely he'll go after Shawn and more likely he'll go after you." Reid swallowed as he met his boss's eyes.

"Me?"

"You were the one with Shawn all day, it's likely he sees you as a threat. Shawn was going to make coffee for you, wasn't he? He probably wanted to take you out before you could get to close to Shawn - he felt threatened."

Shawn couldn't help it. Panic was starting to set heavy on his chest at the thought of people being hurt or _killed_ over him, of his friends being hurt.

And then a gasp tore itself from his throat, startling his dad awake and drawing the eyes of the agents. "Gus." His voice came out barely a whisper as panic and desperation clawed at his throat. "He- He's been sick- What if he's not sick?!"

His dad rose, putting an arm on his shoulder and glancing at the agents, concerned to see his son so frantic. "Shawn, what's going on?"

Shawn met eyes with Agent Hotchner, trying hard to swallow down the fear in his throat. "He's at home, he's alone- W-what if the guy poisoned him-" His chest tightened and the panic got the better of him, making him grab his phone and dial quickly. Agent Hotchner was on his own phone, and his dad and Spencer were trying to talk to him, but he blocked them out as the phone rang and rang and Gus' voice came on.

" _I can't come to the phone right now, leave a message-"_

His phone dropped out of his hands and he didn't seem to notice them shaking. His mind was running through scenarios, each worse than the last, each with the same result: Gus was dead, and it's his fault. He didn't notice himself growing lightheaded until he felt his dad rubbing circles on his sternum, urging him to draw a much needed breath. He didn't notice Spencer holding his arm, or Agent Hotchner on his own cellphone. An attractive woman with dark hair came into view and started talking to him, and he struggled to focus on her words through the pounding of his blood in his ears. Blankly he placed her as Agent Prentiss.

"Shawn. Shawn, I know it's hard, but I need you to breathe for me." Her voice soothed him and he slowed down his pants, his vision clearing slightly as he drew oxygen into his spasming lungs. "Alright, that's good. I know you're worried, and this situation is hard. Me and my team are going to make sure Gus is alright, we'll protect him, but I need you to tell me his address so we can check on him." Vaguely Shawn noticed Agent Morgan was awake and shouting at Spencer from across the room - Reid ignored him, focusing on Shawn. The psychic rattled off his friend's address and Hotch repeated it into the phone to JJ, asking her to go with Detective O'Hara and check on him. "Alright Shawn, that's good." Emily kept talking to the panicking man; Henry, his father, was pacing around the room, running a hand over his head, trying to reach someone on his phone and watching his son with panic and worry. "Now I know that you're scared. Anyone would be. But I want you to know that we're going to protect you, and your friends. And I want you to know that the deaths so far _have not been your fault_. You can't control this psycho. _This is not your fault_."

Those words calmed Shawn down instantly and he gasped out a sob, breaking down into tears as the stress of adrenaline and panic caught up to him. Spencer and Emily continued to soothe the man as he cried, and Shawn didn't even have the energy in him to be embarrassed. He was only glad that Lassie wasn't awake to see him.

He wanted Gus. More than anything, he wanted to see Gus and make sure he was okay. It was his fault. He should have noticed that Gus was only getting sicker, he should have thought about poison - but why should he have? There was nothing indicating someone was after him. He replayed Agent Prentiss' words in his mind over and over: _This is not your fault. This is not your fault_.

Reid wasn't surprised when the psychic cried himself to sleep. He was more surprised that the energetic, easygoing man had begun to cry in the first place, but then, it was also understandable. He couldn't begin to imagine what was going through Shawn's mind right now.

Slowly, holding his bruised stomach, he made his way back to his own bed and managed to lie down. Hotch and Prentiss were attempting to explain the situation to Morgan, and Morgan looked like he might break down himself as he listened to what he had done, looking at Reid in horror. But everyone broke off as Henry forced out a broken whisper.

"What is happening to my son. Please, tell me now." Henry wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious, he wanted to yell. But all he could think of was Shawn crying over the fact that Gus was sick, and the agents saying something wasn't his fault. He didn't understand. He couldn't be angry. He was distraught, and for once he couldn't hide it on his face. Something was happening to Shawn. He hadn't protected his son well enough, and now something had happened and he didn't know if Shawn would be the same. "Please."


	4. Unsub Undetected

**AN: Sorry I already broke my promise of every two days orz, there was a school trip and I was really tired. Also, thanks to the second person who followed this story! I know this chapter jumps around a lot, I hope it still makes sense. I might rework it. Do you like the part with Gus? I know we haven't seen him much. I'll probably go back and rewrite this story when I'm finished. Also, warning for this chapter: there is unwanted touching in this chapter. It is not of a sexual nature but I'm putting a warning just to be safe. **

**I have a question too: would you guys like it if I made this story M or do you want me to keep it T? It will determine the course I take with the rest of this story, so please let me hear your opinion!**

* * *

Prentiss stayed in the room. Reid had half expected Henry to go running out of the hospital room once they explained, guns blazing, but instead he slowly sank into a chair, staring at his son. Morgan continued to apologize to Reid every few minutes, despite Reid trying to get him to stop. The three agents were now bouncing around a profile, glancing over at Shawn periodically to make sure he stayed asleep. Henry was clearly listening, but didn't say anything. In fact he looked like he might be sick.

Detective Lassiter woke up about an hour after Morgan did, disoriented and dizzy. Prentiss and Reid once more launched into an explanation of the situation, and guilt flashed over the detective's face. He glanced at the sleeping charge, asking rapid-fire questions about the case as his face hardened again, ready to contribute what he could.

"He thinks this SOB is poisoning Guster?" He didn't wait for confirmation, his brow furrowing in deep thought. Something didn't fit. "Spencer is in his thirties. Why would this guy go for people in their twenties?" Morgan tilted his head at that, thinking.

"Maybe he thought if they were younger they would be more attractive to him." Mentally, Reid put together a timeline.

"The oldest victim was the third, right, the last female? Maybe he's going through a pattern."

"So, starting with younger females because he thinks they'll be appealing, working up the ages, realizing they don't satisfy him and doing the same thing with males?" Prentiss tried to clarify.

"That's a strange and specific MO," Lassiter mumbled, still thinking. He didn't want to admit he was worried. He didn't want to admit that he cared.

"None of this makes sense," Henry said weakly. They all looked over at his slack face before quickly looking away again. "It doesn't make sense."

"You've got that right," Morgan muttered.

* * *

When the dark-skinned man burst through the door Prentiss already had her gun trained on him, Reid reaching painfully for his own on the table next to him. Lassiter and Morgan started awake, both unconsciously reaching for their own guns before remembering they didn't have them. Shawn, mercifully, stayed asleep, doped up with sedatives after him and Henry went at each other and Emily forced the father out of the room to eat and change.

The man had a wild look in his eye, two nurses rushing in after him, grabbing his arms and shoulders and trying to calm him down and drag him out of the room to be treated himself. There was an oozing cut above his eye and his left arm was bruised heavily - it looked like he had been in some sort of accident. He shoved them off, snarling, and brandished the bent golf club he carried threateningly, although his hands were shaking.

He didn't seem to notice Prentiss, or the others. His eyes were glazed and distant - a fever, Reid thought tentatively - and the nurses retreated as Prentiss waved her hand at them, hovering just outside the doorway. He slowly let the bent club he held drop, clattering on the floor, and momentarily Reid believed the man was looking at him before he realized he was looking _past_ him, at the bed on the other side of the room. Shawn. The man sunk to his knees, seeming dazed and slightly confused, anchoring himself with the sight of the other man.

Prentiss caught Reid's eye and nodded, holstering her gun as Reid kept his trained on the man, despite the pain it caused. Wary but concerned, she crept forward, crouching in front of him. "Hey," she said softly, not wanting to startle him. He didn't answer. "Do you know where you are?" she tried.

"Hospital," the man breathed, not taking his eyes off Shawn. "He said he was in the hospital, he said so I came and here I am, in the hospital." Emily nodded as the man's face screwed up, like he was about to cry. "Goddamnit Shawn." A sob tumbled off his lips and he buried his face in his hands, shaking. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Guster," Lassiter called, his voice rough. Reid glanced over at him. This was Gus? "Guster- Gus, calm down." Gus looked up, following the sound of Lassiter's voice.

"Detective?" His voice was small and shook, and Prentiss could see his injuries were taking a toll. "D-Detective- What's happening? I don't understand."

"Guster, I'll tell you, but you need to tell me what happened to you first." Reid dropped his gun, carefully putting it back on the table, as Prentiss grabbed Gus' arm. He let himself be pulled up, swaying as he stood, and led to the chair recently vacated by Henry. His eyes didn't leave his unconscious friend.

"There was a guy," was the first thing that came from Gus, but he blinked and realized he needed to be specific. "Um. He wasn't- wasn't very imposing. Maybe 5'10", 5'11", with- with really-" He shuddered, breaking off for a moment, and Emily urged him to breathe. Morgan was on his cell phone, talking quietly. "His eyes. They're terrifying. I couldn't tell you a color but- They were s-so- so hateful, and angry, and _crazy_ , the SOB. Skinny, with dark hair. Real unassuming, s-someone that blends into the background, you know?" He looked up at Lassiter, desperate for him to understand. The detective nodded, urging him to continue.

"I answered the door, because I f-figured he was just selling something." He chuckled anxiously. "And damn, looks are deceiving, because he forced his way into my house and started beating me, yelling things I didn't understand." He sped up, his words tumbling over one another as Prentiss tried to calm him. "So I g-grabbed that stupid golf club Shawn left in my house and fought back, and then he fell and I ran outside and I didn't have my keys, so I started running for the shopping center so I could call someone, and the guy- the b-bastard ran me down with his car!" Another sob escaped, unwanted, and Gus was staring at Shawn again, his shoulders shaking. "I was scared, so I played dead," he whispered. "Made it seem like I was more hurt than I was. I was afraid he would run over me if I didn't. And the guy got out of his car, and he called me a thief, and I wanted to ask him what I'd stolen but I didn't because I didn't want to make him angry. And he said... He said 'Shawn is mine now. Once he gets out of the hospital, he's mine.' And then he just... just left. He must've thought he left me for dead. And I got up and I've been searching the hospitals and here, Shawn's here, why is he in the h-hospital, why is he hurt, did that man do it?" Tears began to fall now and he dashed them away, embarrassed, fruitlessly. He couldn't seem to make them stop now that the adrenaline had worn off. He looked up at Lassiter.

"Would you be able to identify this man?" Gus shuddered, looking at Morgan, meeting his eyes.

"Anywhere," he whispered. "I'll never forget his face."

"You'd never seen him before?" He looked at Reid now, and Reid knew Gus was failing. He needed treatment and sleep.

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Not once in my entire life. I don't know where he came from. I don't understand. Why's Shawn hurt?" The agents glanced at each other.

"We believe he's being stalked and pursued by the recent serial killer," Prentiss said softly, trying to keep her voice calm. Gus glanced at her, then down at his friend, before nodding and starting to chuckle, bursting into all out laughter.

"Of course," he cried. "Of course!" And then he fainted.

* * *

Spencer was awake.

He was staring at the nurse who had just entered the room, right after rushing feet could be heard down the hall and the alarm of a code blue blaring. He knew it was time for Shawn's pain medication, the one that made him so drowsy. But he also knew that this nurse had not administered the medication. He had never seen his nurse before.

The nurse was simply standing over the psychic's bed, stroking the man's face, whispering softly. And Spencer watched, afraid to call out, because he could tell the look of a gun hidden under clothes any day, and he was afraid the man would hurt Shawn.

"I can see you watching," the man's soft voice giggled before he looked over his shoulder at Spencer. Reid could feel the blood drain away from his face as he met cold eyes, the whites glowing in the dim light of the room. "That's okay," he whispered, turning back to Shawn. Then he shuddered slightly. "I think I'd like you to watch." Spencer's eyes widened, horror filling him, his mind running through scenarios but not finding a satisfactory one. He glanced at the other two charges of the room, both sleeping, as the man went around the other side of Shawn's bed, giving Spencer a clear view.

"Yes," the man said, almost to himself, glancing at Spencer again. "The thief can watch what he stole be stolen back." He leaned down, continuing his fairly innocent ministrations until Shawn's eyes began to flutter open. Then he grabbed the psychic's hand, bringing it up. In horror Spencer though the man would made Shawn touch him, but instead he brought the hand to his hidden gun. Shawn's eyes shot open and his breath hitched, staring up into the man's eyes.

"Hey dude," Shawn chuckled softly, his eyes shooting nervously around the room, resting on Spencer for a second. "I like foreplay as much as the next guy, but gun kinks aren't my thing." The waver in his voice gave away his fear and exhaustion. The man hummed.

"Me neither," he mumbled as he leaned down and kissed Shawn's jaw. Shawn visibly paled, wincing away from the touch, meeting Spencer's eyes with horror. "But I don't want you fighting me," he sang, giggling madly. He was staring intently at Shawn, and Shawn was trying his damnedest to not look back. "God," the man breathed. "You're even more beautiful up close." Shawn didn't answer, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed, alternating between staring carefully at the wall or meeting Spencer's eyes. Both of them were too drugged up and weak to do anything to protect themselves or each other. It was hopeless.

The man sighed, pouting. "I can't take you home yet," he mumbled. "But don't worry, I have everything ready for when you're better." He purred, running a hand through Shawn's hair, and it took the psychic everything he had not to shudder. "I just couldn't wait that long to touch you, not after what those fucking _thieves_ did." His face turned to a mask of rage before shifting back to calm just as quickly. "I knew you couldn't wait for me either," he whispered as he trailed a hand down Shawn's arm. The psychic bit his lip and closed his eyes, and Spencer started to shake with fear and anger. He was an FBI agent, and this was happening right in front of his face. And he couldn't do a single thing about it.

"I can't wait," Shawn said suddenly. "But we have to." Spencer looked at him, seeing the desperation as he met the unsub's eyes for the first time. "I don't want to get injured more and stay here longer than I have to. And I know that the more we wait, the more satisfying it will finally be." The unsub tilted his head in thought before breaking into a grin.

"You're right, Shawn." He beamed. "You always are." He leaned down again, his face close to Shawn's, and Spencer knew it took all the psychic had not to turn away. "I'll see you soon, then," the unsub said before kissing Shawn deeply. Even from across the room Spencer could see as the shock registered on Shawn's face, his hands twitching to push the man away. But it was unnecessary, as the next moment the unsub was out the door, and Shawn was left still and shocked.

Spencer quickly climbed out of bed, grabbing his cell phone before going over to the other man. "Shawn?" The psychic looked up at him, and even in the dim light Spencer could see what swirled in his eyes - fear. Nothing was said for a moment, and then Spencer heard the whisper.

"He's going to come back."


	5. Big Girls Don't Cry, But Shawn's No Girl

**AN: First, thank you to the Guest who reviewed this story! It made me really happy, I'll definitely try to update as often as I can. I know you said to go ahead with M, but I'm still debating. I'm not sure if it would be well received by the fandom, but I do think it would add more to the story. Second, I know that a lot of people in the fandom depict Shawn in really terrifying situations as stoic and joking around. I've never really read a fic where he's truly broken down. But, Gus is his best friend, and Gus is really hurt right now, and he's being stalked by a crazy serial killer, and I don't know, I would be stressed out too. Gus is gone, his defense mechanisms are addled, and yeah, he's gonna cry a bit in the next few chapters. Also, I know this chapter seems pretty much like filler, but I think it's important to show what Shawn feels. Don't worry, he's not going to be weepy for the whole story, but his defenses are down right now, not to mention the painkillers he's on and the stress he's feeling about Gus. When he confronts the killer, he'll totally be badass, don't worry! Because real men can be badass and still show emotion. Sorry for the long AN. Here's the chapter!**

* * *

Reid thought he felt his heart break a bit when he woke up the next morning and saw the psychic still sitting up in bed, staring straight ahead, looking about as well as he had last night.

At first Spencer thought Shawn was taking the whole ordeal well, until he grabbed the remote off his bed and the cell phone off the table and proceeded to turn on every single light in the small room, effectively waking up Morgan and Detective Lassiter, before he called his father and what Reid thought to be half of the Santa Barbara Police Department. The nurse came in to find out what was wrong and when she told Shawn they weren't going to allow any visitors, Reid thought the man would have a panic attack.

Somehow the psychic managed to get control over himself and, instead, called his father again and talked with him for what seemed like hours. After Morgan and Lassiter finished grumbling, realizing Shawn had tuned out the rest of the world, all three rolled over and went back to sleep, realizing there was nothing they could do. Now, Reid wondered if he should've kept vigil with his new friend, seeing the telephone still clutched next to his ear and his eyes wide open and staring. He couldn't hear Henry's voice through the phone - he could only assume the conversation had ended a while ago, and Shawn wasn't thinking clearly enough to put down the phone. He glanced around the rest of the room as he sat up, his sore abdomen feeling better than it had yesterday, and noticed Morgan staring at Shawn as well, worry clear on his face. Half asleep, he and Lassiter hadn't comprehended the extent of the terror Reid and Shawn had felt. Now, he felt guilty that it had happened in the same room, and he had been _asleep_.

"Shawn?" Reid called hesitantly, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and trying to get his bearings as the world momentarily spun. He could hear a soft clattering and when his vision cleared, he noticed the psychic staring at him with the same wide eyes. His phone had slipped out of his hand and off the bed, coming to rest on the floor. "Shawn?" he asked again, a bit louder, as the man blinked slowly.

"The alarms," finally came from the stunned man, his voice scratching in his throat. Shawn's mind was moving a mile a minute, and yet it felt like he wasn't thinking about anything. "The alarms, last night, the alarms." Reid nodded, remembering clearly the sound of feet and the code blue. " _Spencer_ ," Shawn said desperately, and as Reid looked up to meet his eyes again he saw the glaze clear for what must have been the first time in hours. "The alarms. Next door. _The alarms._ _ **Spencer.**_ "

And it clicked in Reid's mind what was happening, why the heart monitor attached to Shawn was slowly increasing its volume as Shawn gasped in air. Next door - Gus, Shawn's best friend. A code blue. And he was on his feet, Morgan following him, hurrying over to Shawn and taking his hand, not breaking eye contact. Shawn desperately needed reassurance, but Spencer couldn't give that to him.

"Derek," he said quietly, keeping his voice calm to not worry Shawn any further, "go find a nurse, okay? Ask them about Burton Guster. He's in the room next door. See if he can receive visitors." He could hear shuffling feet and the door opening. Shawn's hands were trembling and he was swallowing convulsively, like he was trying to hold back vomit. "Shawn, breathe for me, okay? Hyperventilating isn't going to do any good."

"He did it, didn't he?" Shawn's lips barely moved, and for a moment Reid thought he had imagined the soft voice speaking to him. "Th-The bastard killed him. He c-came here and killed Gus. _Oh God-_ "

"Shh, Shawn. I'm sure Gus is fine, alright, we're going to see him in a few minutes and I'll prove it to you." Shawn swallowed some more, staring at him.

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"You don't believe yourself." Reid blinked, taken aback. Shawn was correct - had the man profiled him? "He's- What if he's dead? It's my fault, Spencer-" Shawn stopped, and closed his eyes, and Spencer could practically hear what was echoing in his head: Emily, yesterday, repeating 'This is not your fault'. Emily always was good with victims.

"He's not dead, Shawn. He's in a hospital."

"Because of me!" Shawn's eyes flew open, and for the first time Reid noticed Detective Lassiter was awake now too. The psychic's voice began to climb, both in pitch and volume. "He's in here because of me! You're all in here because of me! B-Because th- Because-!" His voice caught and for a moment Spencer was afraid he would cry, but instead Shawn wailed in frustration. Lassiter was on his feet then, taking up position at the other side of Shawn's bed, wracking his brain for something to say.

"Spencer, Guster is fine," he said gruffly, drawing Shawn's attention. Shawn desperately clung to the words, and with a shock Lassie realized how much Shawn actually trusted him. "You're going to be fine too. We're going to find this sick son of a bitch in the name of Sweet Lady Justice, and so help me God you're going to be fine."

Shawn stared at him for a moment, and Lassiter worried he wasn't going to respond. But the faux psychic's voice cracked as he spoke, choking back tears. "I don't know what to do, Carlton." Lassiter was taken aback, both by the sound of Shawn's voice and the use of his name, but he didn't let it show, glancing at Agent Reid who had fallen silent.

"You don't have to do anything, Spencer," he muttered back. "You just recover in here with Guster. Let us handle it."

"No!" Shawn suddenly shouted, looking wild. "No, Gus and I can't stay here Lassie! We can't stay here! We have to _leave_!"

"Guster isn't in any condition to leave, Spencer. You know that." In any other situation, Shawn would've heard the distress and sympathy on Lassie's voice.

"No!" he practically screamed, frantic, trying to get out of bed. " _We have to go, Lassie! Gus and I aren't safe here!_ We have to go to Dad's! If we're at Dad's house, we'll be fine!" Even in his addled state, Shawn could hear the delusion edging his voice, the insanity. It only served to scare him more. It scared him to hell and back. He wanted his Dad there. He didn't know what to do, and Dad would know what to do.

He looked up as he heard the voice he so desperately needed to hear, the voice who had hung up on him an hour ago, and calmed instantly. "Alright kid," Henry said gruffly, looking tired and worse for wear. But who was he to deny his kid when he called him in the middle of the night, hysterical and unable to even explain what was wrong? He had stayed on the phone. He may not be the best dad at times, but damn it, he was still Shawn's father. And he hated this. "We'll go back to my place. But I can't guarantee they'll let Gus out of here." Shawn bit his lower lip so hard Spencer thought it would bleed.

"But he's not safe, Dad," the man whispered, sounding every bit a scared 10 year old kid who had just gotten lost in a department store. "He's not safe. He can't s-stay here."

"I know kid. But the police will protect him. It's you I'm worried about."

"He died last night, Dad!" Shawn cried, calmer but still shaken, as Henry walked over and Reid and Lassiter backed off. "H-He died and it's-" He took a shuddering breath then, and Henry watched his son visibly calm, closing his eyes. He knew that look anywhere.

"What is it, Shawn? What'd you see?"

"I know the guy," his son whispered, his eyes opening, and it terrified Henry to see the distress in them, the horror that had filled them, when it had been proven for so many years that next to nothing could affect Shawn. "I know him, Dad. I talk to him every day. He works in the apartment building. Heck, he fixed my sink!" Lassiter was already on the phone, no doubt with the SBPD. Henry didn't get a chance to answer his son as Morgan reentered the room with an empty wheelchair and a nurse.

"Gus is fine," he said with a soft smile to Shawn. "They got him back last night and he's perfectly fine now. You can even see him."

Shawn was out of bed before anyone could stop him, and didn't even fight when the nurse forced him into the wheelchair. Henry stood just inside the room as Shawn shakily grabbed Gus' hand, waking up his best friend, who looked at him wearily.

"Hey Shawn." Shawn seemed at a loss for words - just another terrifying thing about his son today in a heap of terrifying things Henry was noticing.

"I'm so sorry," he finally whispered before breaking down. And Gus, being the sympathetic crier that he was, broke down too, and they were sobbing together, clinging to each other's hands. "I'm so sorry, Gus. I'm so sorry."


	6. Double Trouble

**AN: Thanks to you guys who are still reading! We're getting into the swing of the story now, I'm doing my best to keep the characters true to how they are in the shows but if you notice something that really bothers you, feel free to tell me! I know my past few updates have been kind of disappointing, but this has some Spencer/Spencer bro time and lots of action, and it's pretty long, so I hope it makes up for it! I'm going to try and update in two days like I have been, but I don't know if I'll get to it. I know what's going to happen immediately after this but still haven't decided in the long run - M or T? M or T? I just don't know...**

Spencer Reid was sitting on Henry Spencer's couch, gazing around the house slowly. Someone could tell a lot about Henry from his house.

It was late now. Gus hadn't been allowed to leave the hospital. Shawn had been interrogated, intimidated, and interrogated again. He had been shocked when he was shown pictures of the employees in his building and the unsub wasn't one of them, and it had taken a moment for him to gather himself enough to work with a sketch artist.

Now, high as a kite on painkillers, he was sitting next to Spencer, humming off-tune and waiting for his father to finish dinner. Spencer was content with the silence - it gave him time to think about the case. But it seemed Shawn wasn't as comfortable.

"You know," he started, his words slurring tiredly, "I've figured you out." Spencer looked at him, his brow furrowed in confusion, as Shawn laughed. "I figured you out, man. You're me! I'm you!" His confusion grew.

"What do you mean?"

"We both have that thing. Itemetic - no - Isedemic-"

"Eidetic?"

"That!" Shawn laughed. "And we're both detectives. Maybe it's a predisposition." He tapped his head. "But I figured you out." Spencer tilted his head.

"You have eidetic memory?"

"Shh!" Shawn giggled. "Itsa secret." Spencer blinked, thinking.

"So you aren't really psychic? Shawn frowned.

"Yes I am! See, that's why itsa secret. That's why I act dumber than I am. But I could be you."

"You act dumb? Why?"

"Self preservation." Shawn laughed again. "We're opposite, but we're the same." He pointed at Spencer. "You: college, probably skipping grades, FBI agent, smarter-than-the-average-bear. Me: high school diploma, private detective... And you don't run. I run when things get hard, but I bet you try to face 'em." He sighed. "But here we are."

"That's true," Spencer mumbled, watching the doped up man curiously.

Unexpectedly, Shawn tensed, glancing around, and looked at Reid. "He's here," he mumbled, struggling to try and gain his feet. For a moment, Reid sat still.

"What do you mean?" he whispered back, looking around the house. He didn't notice anything out of place as he gained his own feet, limping on the heavy cast he wore.

"The stove's off. Been off for five minutes. But Dad hasn't called us to dinner yet? And Buzz has been pacing in front of the front door. His shadow crosses the window every thirty seconds. But it stopped - I thought he had just stopped pacing. But the back door is open: you can hear the birds chirping outside." Shawn met his eyes, and Reid was surprised at how calm he was. "He's here. Where's your gun?"

But Shawn didn't need to ask because it was already comfortably in Reid's hands as he looked around, waiting for movement. Shawn grabbed what looked to be a paperweight of some kind, unsteadily making his way toward the kitchen, peering around the doorway. He waved Spencer after him and pointed to where his father was unconscious on the floor, a needle sticking out of his neck. They both looked around anxiously, trying to pick up on movement or breathing, but saw nothing.

"Where is he?" Shawn breathed, his head finally seeming clear. "He's around here somewhere." He shook his head, glancing at Reid before creeping towards his father, silently pulling the gun Henry had been guarding off the counter and quietly clicking off the safety, checking his father's pulse with the other hand. Spencer could tell the position pained his ribs from the grimace on his face, but it seemed Henry was fine as he slowly moved back over to Spencer and stood, hefting the gun in one hand and the paperweight in the other. They looked around, trying to formulate a plan, glancing at each other. It seemed they didn't even need to speak to see what the other was thinking, but Shawn gestured to the open backdoor anyway, silently asking Reid to check if he was outside. He got a nod in response as Reid silently stepped over Henry, peering carefully into the backyard and catching Shawn's eye to gesture an all clear.

He got a nod in response as Shawn placed the paperweight on the table and pulled out his cell phone, whispering "Go outside and call help."

Reid shook his head, hissing back, "You're a civilian. Let's get out of here and call backup." He noticed Shawn's eyes widen imperceptibly and took two steps forward before the other even had time to shout.

"Reid! Look out!"

He felt the air move as something whipped past his head and he stumbled, watching Shawn raise his father's gun at whoever had attacked. He spun on his heel, pointing his own gun, and saw the nurse from the other night, his face contorted in anger. Where did he come from?! Reid had checked outside - had he been hiding? Where had he been hiding?

"Drop your weapon," Reid said calmly, noticing the bat in the man's hand. "Put your hands on your head. You're under arrest for the murders of-" Another swing of the bat cut him off and he had to take two more clumsy steps back, somehow keeping balance, the cast making his movements awkward.

When he glanced back he saw Shawn calmly pointing his borrowed gun in one hand, calling for help with the other. "You're outgunned, man," he called to the unsub, taking a deep breath. "Just give it up. The police will be here soon."

"You corrupted him!" the man screamed, taking a wild swing at Reid and forcing him to step back once more. "You thieves corrupted him!" Spencer didn't have time to find his footing before the unsub barreled into him, knocking him down with the force and sending his gun clattering across the floor as he threw out his hands to break his fall. He raised his arms, fully expecting to feel the sensation of wood smacking against flesh. When it didn't come he raised his head, watching as the unsub smashed Shawn's phone into smithereens. Shawn himself was slumped against the wall, moaning weakly and holding his ribs.

Reid scrambled for his gun before the attention was directed once more at him, but had to lunge back as the bat swung down mere millimeters from his face, smashing into the tile with a resounding _crack_. "Reid," he heard Shawn groan urgently, and turned just in time to catch the gun Shawn threw towards him, flicking the safety off quickly and going to point it at the unsub before he had to roll out of the way of another strike, running into Shawn's legs in the small kitchen.

In return he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dumping it in Shawn's lap as he struggled to his feet. "Speed dial one!" he said urgently, bringing the gun up once more. For now it seemed the unsub had contented himself with smashing whatever was on Henry's counters in the absence of smashing Reid's face in, and for that Reid was thankful. He felt relieved when he quickly heard Hotch's voice through the phone, but the relief was short lived as the unsub heard as well, rounding on the two again.

"Drop the phone," he growled, his voice seeming almost feral. "Drop it now, Shawn, and maybe I won't punish you for being a traitor." Reid could tell Shawn was scared, but he didn't show it.

"C'mon man, don't you know you aren't supposed to bring a baseball bat to a gun fight?" The man seemed unamused. "You know you aren't going to get out of here. The police are on their way, and if you don't drop the bat soon this guy will shoot you." Reid sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that. He could hear Hotch over the phone demanding answers, and Shawn muttered something too softly to be intelligible to the others in the room.

" _I said drop the phone!_ " Shawn flinched a bit, then paled as the unsub rested the bat next to Henry's head, snarling "Drop it now." Shawn glanced at Spencer, seeing an almost imperceptible nod, and slowly placed the phone on the ground. He didn't hang it up.

For a moment this seemed to only make the unsub angrier before he broke into a grin. Spencer was seriously contemplating firing his weapon by now, but he didn't want to do it unless it was absolutely necessary. Even so, he couldn't come up with a single way to talk this guy down. The image of a boy lying in a bathroom with a shotgun blowing his head to pieces played in his mind and he had to blink and shake himself. His shoulders were starting to tense up as he wracked his brain for something to calm the unsub.

"Put it on speaker." Shawn looked at Spencer, seeing no reaction, before nervously following the order.

"Man, why don't you just put the bat down. If you want to talk, we'll talk. No need for violence." Reid desperately hoped Hotch had something better to say than the two of them, because it seemed the unsub wasn't listening to them anymore. He could hear a commotion over the phone and what sounded like Morgan yelling in the background, which didn't make sense to him for a second.

"Why don't you tell Shawn your name?" he suggested quietly, and managed to draw the attention of the unsub. "You know Shawn, but Shawn doesn't know you. He'd like to know your name, right Shawn?" The psychic nodded vigorously.

"I'd love to know the name of the guy who took down my dad! You know, not a lot of people can do that, it's some feat, and-"

"You know my name!" the man shouted furiously, staring at Shawn with something akin to intense hatred. "What do you mean, what's my name!? You know my name! You love me!"

"Oh right, of course I do," Shawn stammered. "What I mean is, do you have a nickname or something that you'd like me to call you, ya know, so we can be affectionate and all? My mom calls me Goose-"

"Shut up," the unsub snarled, and Reid resigned himself to the fact that if the man rushed them he would have to shoot. "You forgot about me. You fucking forgot."

"Of course I didn't, how could I forget-"

" _Shut up!_ " he screamed, his face red in rage. "I don't want to talk to you right now Shawn! I don't want to talk to you! I want to talk to those bastards you called on the phone!" Shawn closed his eyes for a moment, realizing how vulnerable he was, slumped against the wall and unable to even draw a full breath for pain. He'd never admit it to anyone but Gus, and only then jokingly, but he was scared. Why hadn't Spencer taken the shot yet?

"Well, I don't know your name," Rossi's voice came through the phone, and with a sinking feeling Reid realized they were treating it as a hostage situation. For all the team knew, he had been disarmed and was tied up. "I'd like to know it, if we're going to hold a pleasant conversation. I'm Dave." The unsub snorted.

"I'm not that stupid. But for the sake of a conversation, you can call me John."

"Alright, John." Reid could hear the frustration on the edge of his voice, but only someone who knew Rossi would've noticed it. "What do you want to talk about?" Shawn realized they had no idea why John had demanded the phone be put on speaker, and then he realized _he_ had no idea why John wanted the phone on speaker. It was silent for a few moments.

"I didn't want to talk about anything." Shawn looked over at Reid and paled, barely able to open his mouth and shout " _Spencer- Behind you!_ " before the good doctor was slammed into from behind, toppling over and sending his gun skittering across the floor. "I just wanted a distraction. I guess it worked."

Reid was fighting with the large man on top of him, but he was pinned on his front, one of his legs immobile from the cast, and he could feel a large bruise forming in his hairline from where he had smacked into the floor. Shawn could hear Juliet asking him what had happened - she must've wrenched the phone from Agent Hotchner, or, more likely, it was on speaker - and realized his mouth was open in shock.

"It's a pair!" he managed to shout. "Two guys, it's a pair!" He realized that was crucial to the BAU's profile and was glad he managed to convey it before the bat came smashing down on the phone, but instantly regretted it when John turned to him with unadulterated rage on his face.

The last thing he knew was blinding pain and stars dancing through his dad's kitchen, making a mess of the place that could've rivaled him and Gus at their worst.


	7. Nothing to be Done

**AN: Thank you for your review HappyNerd92! I also read "Fury", dragonann is a great writer. That story was very graphic, I'm comfortable with M stuff but I don't know that I'll make it that graphic. The next chapter I guess I'll decide the direction I'll be taking with this story, although I think I'll make the next chapter the team and SBPD centered just to get that part of the story out of the way. I know this chapter sort of slows down at the end, it's 11 PM right now but I really wanted to get the chapter out. I'll try to keep updating on this schedule but midterms are in a month so I gotta buckle down for school. Don't worry though, I fully intend to finish this! I already have a sequel planned as well, because I need more of my eidetic boys.**

* * *

Reid was scared.

He would never tell that to anyone, not Garcia or JJ and definitely not Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi or Hotch. But he was scared.

He knew, logically, that it was a natural reaction to the situation he was in but it didn't make him feel any better. He was blaming himself. Again, logically, he understood there was no way he could have known there was a second unsub - if he had known, he certainly would've discharged his weapon. But that only scared him more, because he now was physically and mentally unarmed: the profile was wrong. He had no answers, no weapons, and now, no backup.

But what scared him the most was how John Doe was treating Shawn's already beaten and unconscious body. Humiliating as it was to be cuffed with his own handcuffs and threatened with his own gun, it was infinitely more humiliating to watch the man he was charged to protect, though unofficially as technically he was off on medical leave, moan in pain as the two unsubs tied him tightly and hauled him up.

"Stop it!" he heard himself cry in a voice that he remembered from a nightmare in a cabin. "You're hurting him more! He's going to puncture a lung." He received glares in response, but as John turned back to Shawn his face softened, and he was considerably gentler, pulling up Shawn's shirt to examine the deep purple bruising and hissing in sympathy. He glanced at Reid once more and his face hardened again. Turning to his associate, he spoke.

"Carry him out to the car, quickly. I can already hear sirens, we have to hurry. But be careful with him."

"He deserves it," the larger man muttered quietly, and Reid was surprised by the meekness in his voice. This was the submissive personality. The man hefted Shawn up bridal style, and despite his comment Reid could tell he tried hard not to jostle the man too much. Seeing the blood dripping heavily down Shawn's face, over his left eye and cheek, Reid had to swallow to keep bile down and remind himself that facial and head wounds bleed considerably more than other wounds, and that other than a concussion the psychic was okay. Probably.

He glanced at Henry Spencer out of the corner of his eye. Thankfully the father seemed uninjured, other than the needle in his neck, and Reid hoped it stayed that way. He could hear the sirens distantly now, and wondered for a moment if the unsub had really heard them earlier, but decided it didn't matter.

Shame made his stomach hot with sickness as John Doe grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking him unsteadily onto his knees, and then to his feet. "Walk," the man growled, and for a second Reid didn't know if he could do it. He felt too unsteady, exhausted and ashamed. And for a second he considered willfully disobeying and trying to wrench the now two weapons from the man's hands. Undoubtedly he would be shot or beaten, but at least he would go down fighting.

These thoughts were fleeting and instead he decided to slowly limp his way to the car and only hope that his pained pace would stall enough for his team to arrive. He knew they must be freaked out, and his heart went to them. He was freaked out too.

He stumbled on his way off the porch, and John's rage showed through again. His partner returned, and they decided to simply grab Reid's arms and drag him through the grass, gate, and into the car, dumping him on top of Shawn. Reid yelped as Shawn groaned, squirming off of him and trying to sit up. John watched with a satisfied expression, slamming the door shut, and the two climbed into the front seat. The sirens were almost upon them now, and Reid prayed they would see the car pulling out of the driveway.

Of course, Reid always was the one with the worst luck on the team, except perhaps Gideon.

As they turned out of the block Unsub Number Two grabbed Reid's hair and forced his head down between the seats, and as he heard sirens rush past he realized they didn't want the police recognizing him through the window. Although, he didn't know if anyone would be able to see anything through the heavily tinted windows - even the windshield was tinted, and he felt homesick as he remembered swiftly that such a thing was illegal in Virginia.

He felt near tears.

So close, his team was so close, but it was too late. He was scared. He knew at least one of these men was a sexual sadist, and at least one had a pathological obsession with Shawn and an extreme hatred for anyone who was close to him, that being, right now, Reid.

He wanted to talk to the men so he could begin a profile, but was shamefully afraid of being hit. The thought of Morgan and Hotch's faces made his ears burn, however, and he wracked his brain for something to say.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I'm sure Shawn would like you just as much without you kidnapping him." His voice sounded weak to his own ears and he cursed himself. He was an FBI agent for God's sake!

"No. I have to protect him," John snarled, his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. The other unsub looked over his shoulder at Reid, watching him with contemplation.

"Can I beat him?" the man asked quietly, glancing at his dominant personality. With a cold and sinking feeling, Reid realized he must be the sadist.

Mercifully, there wasn't much room to move in the car, and his pain threshold was met rather quickly. He faded into darkness, accepting it.

* * *

He woke to pain.

Tears sprung to his eyes immediately as he gripped his ribs, fruitlessly trying to diminish the throbbing that shot needles white-hot through his flesh, breathing shallowly to reduce the pain. Only seconds later did the screaming agony in his head make itself known, and he gripped his scalp tightly, trying desperately to ground himself against the jackhammer behind his eyes. He couldn't stop the few tears that slipped out any more than the low groan that escaped.

He couldn't do anything for several minutes except lie there and breathe. He couldn't even think. He didn't _want_ to think. He wanted to slip back into the nauseously wavering blackness on the edges of his mind. But he knew he shouldn't, not with the clear concussion he was now experiencing. Instead he rolled over to the edge of what he was lying on - it felt like a bare mattress - and threw up, heaving painfully. He wanted the agony to stop, but knew it wouldn't. He would need to force through it.

He just wanted to slip back into darkness, but bigger concerns pushed that desire aside. Where was he? Who were the men? Was Spencer okay? He laid for a few more seconds before trying to pry his eyes open. One felt like it was glued shut, something sticky and dried coating his eyelids. The other opened easily, and he stared at the wall in front of him before rolling onto his back, knowing the smell of his own vomit would only make him nauseous again. He stared at the ceiling, taking in what he could about the room from his position, still trying to force his left eye open.

The air was cool and humid, and the ceiling was cement, but the wall looked like packed soil: probably a basement. He was lying on an old and very stained mattress, which he was unashamedly thankful for, as the floor didn't look terribly comfortable to him. He could see two support pillars in the middle of the room out of the corner of his eye, only confirming his conclusion of an underground prison. It was dark, a dim light coming from one corner of the room where he thought he could see stairs. If he listened closely, he could hear crickets and birds, so he wasn't in the city anymore or near the beach. It must be somewhere in the mountains, he thought, and cursed. It would only make him so much harder to find.

Slowly he forced himself to roll over and push himself up, examining the room more. He was in the back right corner of the room; in the front left was the stairway and the dim pool of light, and in the corner across from him was Dr. Spencer Reid, looking worse for wear. He couldn't stop the gasp that escaped him as he crawled over to the beaten doctor, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him more.

"Spencer," he felt more than heard himself whisper, reaching out to shake the younger man lightly. "Spencer, come on man, don't do this to me. Wake up, c'mon Spence." Idly he noticed that while he wasn't tied up, Reid was chained to a metal pole that was sunk into the ground and secured in cement, and he cursed quietly. Either they didn't think Shawn could escape, or they knew he wouldn't try to without Spencer.

"Reid, my man, wake up for me." He shook harder, biting his lip, afraid serious damage had been done that he couldn't fix, but relief flooded him with Spencer groaned and opened his eyes.

It was a gruesome sight he saw.

Shawn's eye was glued shut with his own blood, and he could tell the man was in immense pain. Reid's body was filled with a dull throbbing from the beating he had taken, and he could only hope he hadn't sustained a concussion. Weakly, he reached up his hands to assess the damage, only to hear the rattling of chains and see his hands still cuffed together, albeit this time in front of him, for which he was glad. Sitting up slightly he could feel a cold collar around his neck, and followed the chain with his eyes to a sturdy metal pole which he knew he wouldn't be able to move. Shawn and him shared a look - neither one felt like talking - and he reached up to feel out the restraint before silently searching his pockets for anything that would be of use while Shawn did the same, both coming up empty.

"Damn it," Shawn muttered, glancing around the rather bare room. He looked back to Spencer. "Are you alright, man? At least, as alright as you could be in this situation?" Spencer nodded, sitting up more and leaning back against the wall, Shawn settling next to him.

"I'm not too hurt. The combination of painkillers and adrenaline knocked me out. I just have a few bruises, I think, nothing broken." Shawn closed his eyes, wrapping an arm around his ribs again, breathing slowly.

"Do you think they'll find us?" he whispered, looking to Spencer for reassurance.

"Of course," Spencer responded without hesitation. "My team and your friends will find us. There's no doubt."

"Yeah... But will they find us before it's too late? I'm sure you know the statistics on kidnappings..." He looked at Reid, his eyes watery. "They may keep me since I'm the subject of their delusions. But what about you? They'll hurt you. I can't stand that, that's not fair."

"I can handle it. This is what I've been trained for. I'm more worried... Shawn, we're going to have to find a way to get out of this, or get the opportunity to give the others a clue."

"You're worried they'll... That I'll be..." Shawn took a shuddering breath, swallowing thickly, unable to force out the word. The subject dropped. "I think we're in the mountains, but I couldn't tell you where. There are a lot of trails and cabins around Santa Barbara." Reid nodded thoughtfully.

"It explains the dumping of the bodies along the footpaths."

"Yeah, and right now a lot of the cabins are abandoned since it's too early for campers and too late for hunters. There's no telling which one we're in, since they probably didn't register for the cabin like they're supposed to."

"Do all the cabins have cellars?"

"Most of them. It's precautionary in case there are large storms that cause mudslides. Like in tornado alley, they have basements in most houses too." Spencer nodded, thinking hard.

"They aren't the type of unsubs who insert themselves in police investigations or taunt the law enforcement. There's a sadistic submissive and a sexually psychotic dominant... I think the stabbing of the bodies was done by the submissive personality to try and please the dominant personality."

"Do you think your team will be able to figure that out?" Reid looked down, slowly shaking his head.

"Probably not. Having two unsubs changes the dynamics of a profile. They can probably figure out there's a dominant and submissive, but I don't know how much more they can solve without more information which they don't have."

"Do you think the other murders were just crimes of opportunity?"

"Yeah. I think the submissive wanted to impress the dominant so that the dominant would pay attention to him more instead of you. I don't think it worked though - instead it acted as a trigger to his violence." Shawn sighed, leaning his head back against the wall, thinking hard and trying not to let fear and thoughts of what might happen overcome him.

"I don't know how I'll get out of this one," he muttered. Spencer was silent for a moment.

"We don't have to worry. We'll be out of here soon. My team will find us. I know they will." They both froze and tensed up as light suddenly flooded the room, making them blink, and they heard footsteps on the stairs. John Doe's smiling face appeared, but his smile disappeared quickly when he saw the two sitting next to each other.

"Get away from him, Shawn."

"I'm good right here, thanks."

"Get away, or I'll let Adam do much worse to him." Shawn looked up, seeing no hesitation in the unsubs eyes, and slowly limped his way back to the mattress, collapsing onto it with a moan of pain. The smile was back.

"Good! Now we can finally have fun. I know you're still hurt, don't worry. I'll be gentle this time. I don't want to wait any longer. We've both been patient enough." Shawn looked at Reid and saw his own terrified horror reflected back at him.

But there was nothing he could do about it.


	8. Too Late to be Clever

**AN: Screams and cries. I'm so sorry. I have this next chapter planned and the one after that, but I haven't had any time at all to just sit down and write and I feel horrible for it. I was going to sit down tonight because I had some free time, but I ended up spending time with my dad destressing so that didn't happen. I'm really sorry but I AM going to finish this story I promise, I'll try never to go too long in between updates. Which is why I'm here now: I have part of a chapter written, it's pretty boring and short so I didn't want to post it but I don't know when I'll be able to finish and I don't want to keep you waiting any longer. I'm super sorry. I'll try to update in the next two days, but it's just a matter of being able to type up the stuff I'm thinking. Sorry again! Thanks for sticking with me.**

Aaron Hotchner was furious.

Derek Morgan was impatient.

Dave Rossi was angry.

Emily Prentiss was professional.

Jennifer Jareau was upset.

Henry Spencer was guilty.

Juliet O'Hara was worried.

Carlton Lassiter was pissed.

Buzz McNab was numb.

Karen Vick was sick.

Burton Guster was clueless.

Hotch had picked up the call, confused as to what Reid wanted, worried that something had happened. He had a bad feeling in his gut, and he had learned to trust that feeling a while ago. "Hotchner."

" _Agent Hotchner_ ," he heard Shawn Spencer say, his voice tinged with pain. His bad feeling increased tenfold as he placed the phone on speaker, beckoning the others into the conference room.

"Shawn. Did something happen to Agent Reid?" He heard commotion on the other end of the line, someone yelling and a panicked breath.

" _C'mon man,_ " he heard Shawn say as Dave leaned closer to listen in. Detective O'Hara was pacing anxiously, whispering to JJ. " _Don't you know you aren't supposed to bring a baseball bat to a gun fight?_ " There was a nervous pause, and Hotch had to restrain himself from trying to speak to Shawn. He needed to know the situation. " _You know you aren't going to get out of here. The police are on their way, and if you don't drop the bat soon this guy will shoot you._ "

So someone's attacking them, Hotch concluded. With a bat. And Reid at least, or he assumed it was Reid, still had his weapon. Why hadn't he fired it? That was an easy answer. Reid always talked first and fired last. Not to mention the young agent wasn't exactly proficient with guns. He could hear someone scream something - he couldn't make it out, but he assumed it was the unsub - and Shawn's breath hitched again. JJ was physically holding Juliet from leaving now. It was a dangerous situation. They needed more information. On the surface, Juliet knew that; they all knew that. But it was hard to restrain hot-blooded instincts. Someone could be hurt.

There were several sounds and Hotch waited, anxiously ordering JJ to get the Chief and send out some cars. " _Man, why don't you just put the bat down. If you want to talk, we'll talk. No need for violence._ " Shawn was trying to talk the man down. From the nervousness in his voice it didn't seem to be working. Hotch thought about the profile, and was sickened when he realized it was highly unlikely they would be able to dissuade the delusional unsub from his obsession (that being Shawn). Morgan rushed into the room and started yelling, with Prentiss trying to calm him down, but Hotch ignored them, straining to hear the phone.

" _Why don't you tell Shawn your name?_ " Relief passed through them all when they heard Reid's voice, and Morgan sagged tiredly into a chair. At least they knew Reid was still able to defend himself and Shawn. " _You know Shawn, but Shawn doesn't know you. He'd like to know your name, right Shawn?_ "

" _I'd love to know the name of the guy who took down my dad! You know, not a lot of people can do that, it's some feat, and-_ " Shawn was babbling nervously. So Henry Spencer was disabled or hurt. That was enough to shake anyone.

" _You know my name!_ " they heard a shriek through the phone. Hotch had to hold back a flinch. The unsub's delusions were so strong he believed Shawn knew him, and probably that Shaw loved him too. " _What do you mean, what's my name!? You know my name! You love me!_ "

"Why haven't you called Garcia to start a trace?" Prentiss asked quietly, and Hotch glanced at her.

"We know where they are. They're at Henry Spencer's house. The unsub was probably in the middle of a botched kidnapping attempt. It doesn't sound like either of them are hurt..."

"Why aren't we on our way yet?" O'Hara hissed, not insubordinately, and Hotch noticed that her eyes looked distinctly watery.

"We're treating it like a hostage situation," Rossi mumbled back, meeting her eyes. "We don't know if the bat which Shawn mentioned is his only weapon. He's taken down Henry Spencer and most likely took down the officer stationed to guard the house. That gives him at least three hostages, maybe four if he moved the officer inside. If we approach carelessly it could make the situation worse."

"Let's see if Reid can talk him down. He's good at that," Hotch said quietly, and O'Hara seemed to deflate a bit, nodding slightly. She understood their reasoning.

"... _affectionate and all? My mom calls me Goose-_ "

" _Shut up,_ " the unsub snarled, and Hotch realized that the situation was escalating. " _You forgot about me. You fucking forgot_."

" _Of course I didn't, how could I forget-_ "

" _Shut up!_ _I don't want to talk to you right now Shawn! I don't want to talk to you! I want to talk to those bastards you called on the phone!_ " Hotch held back a flinch and glanced at Rossi, sharing a look.

"Well, I don't know your name," Rossi said calmly, glancing around the room. The Chief had entered, looking livid. "I'd like to know it, if we're going to hold a pleasant conversation. I'm Dave."

" _I'm not that stupid. But for the sake of a conversation, you can call me John._ " The team shared a look, irritation and worry flashing over Rossi's face as he considered his words carefully.

"Alright, John. What do you want to talk about?" If you asked the team, they would say that the unsub displayed narcissistic tendencies so they were giving him a form of control; but in reality they had no idea what the guy wanted. And no matter what they tell you, it scared the crap out of them, because it meant their profile was wrong.

" _I didn't want to talk about anything._ " Hotch and Rossi looked at each other in confusion and surprise.

" _Spencer- Behind you!_ " There was a slamming and the sound of something sliding across tile. Half of the room jumped, and tension made it hard to breathe.

" _I just wanted a distraction. I guess it worked_."

Sounds of a struggle could be heard, grunting and shouts. "Shawn!" Juliet yelled. "Shawn, what's going on! Shawn!"

" _It's a pair! Two guys, it's a pair!_ " The line went dead.

The team shared a tentative look of horror before Hotch muttered "Shit!" and snatched his phone off the table, all but running out of the station, shouting orders the whole way.


	9. Cliches are made of this

**AN: I have over 400 views! I know the story has slowed down and I didn't update like I should've, I'm trying to piece out the next part and school is kicking my ass, so sorry for the short chapter ughh**

 **WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER- THERE IS IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT DISCUSSED IN THIS CHAPTER IN DETAIL!** **I didn't make the scene explicit even though I wanted to because I wanted to keep the rating of this story T (also I was writing it in class). YOU CAN SKIP THE SCENE AND STILL UNDERSTAND THE STORY! IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SKIP THE SCENE! There is another scene under a break which you might want to read about the team.**

* * *

It was the whimpers. That was what he couldn't stand. Even forcing himself to look wasn't as unbearable as that broken sound.

He was snide. Well, both of them were, but one was for defense while the other was for pleasure. Yes, he knew that he tried his hardest not to give the man satisfaction, but it was enough just with the grunts and whimpers. The _whimpers_ , unbearable, broken, slipping past, unstoppable. They were enough. Enough to give pleasure.

It was stuffy, hard to breathe. The room had seemed cold before but the heat of moving, breathing, bleeding bodies warmed the air and made it thick. The stench of sweat and sex burned his eyes and gagged him. He wanted to scream, to struggle, to do anything, but shameful fear burned through his stomach and kept him silent while he watched his friend writhe and kick and sneer, but he could see through him. He could see the act, the false strength. The tears sitting just below the eyelids, the monsters crawling just below the skin.

He could hear it in the whimpers. He could see it in the raw wrists and shaking body. What was worse was the man could see it to, and he _relished_ in it. Reid knew; these types were always the ones that loved breaking their victims. Shawn only hoped he was as unbreakable as he acted.

"You'll feel good soon," was whispered.

"Cliche much?" was snarled back. "How many girls have I said the same thing to?" He was hot with shame, humiliation, pain, _agony_. Bile kept rising in his throat and he kept having to swallow it back down. Worse was the fact that he couldn't breathe with his hands tied above his head, yanking his ribs into the unquenchable fire of pain. He couldn't look at the man, couldn't meet the eyes that _used_ him so ravenously, tearing him apart, breaking him down. Instead he looked at the wall, the support beams, the stairs, Spencer.

Spencer was the worst. But he needed _someone_ , and Spencer was _there_ , even with his broken, terrified, horror-filled look and the tears that streamed silently down his face; Shawn didn't think Spencer even knew he was crying. There was nothing they could do.

Bile rose up again as he felt hands touching, roaming, squeezing, closing his eyes against the red humiliation that tried to show on his face. And his mind was blank. There was nothing to say. There was no defense in a situation like this. He was _nothing_. Just a slave to give a man a good fuck. Useless, pathetic, dirty, humiliated, beaten, _nothing_. Forced - yes he was forced, but it didn't mean anything. Yes he was hurt, but he could have fought harder. _Pathetic_.

The man was talking, but Shawn's ears were full of ringing. In truth, he had expected it to hurt much more. He hadn't expected the man to pull out a bottle of lube and take his sweet, sweet time preparing. He hadn't expected to be able to force back the tears though he so desperately wanted to be strong.

He knew he was changed. And Spencer was changed. One instant, and the people they were before were gone, new spirits occupying abandoned shells.

It was a long time.

The lights turned off and the door slammed closed and peace descended in the thick air, leaving two shivering boys in an inherent absence of light. They were scared. They both knew it, they could practically taste it, like they could taste the copper scent of blood on the air.

It was quiet for awhile. Spencer's voice was shaky.

"Shawn-"

"Don't. Don't. I can't talk about it right now. I can't think about it. I need to be strong right now, I can't break right now." Reid nodded, meeting shattered eyes. Shawn's voice was raspy and cracked with tears, but none fell. His pale face was drawn in a seriousness Reid hoped his friends would never see on him.

"We need to get out of here," he whispered, glancing around helplessly.

"How? We can't. I don't... I don't even think I could sit up right now."

There was silence again.

"They'll find us. My team will find us. I know they will."

"But will they find us too late? As corpses out here on the trails?" Blind shuddering terror raced down Spencer's spine as he remembered a terribly cold graveyard and a painfully dug grave. Would Shawn be here if he were lying there?

"No. They'll find us. We... They have to find us." The silence was unbearable.

"Yeah. ... Spencer? Did you get a good look at the face of the second guy?" Reid glanced over at him and they shared a look. "So you recognized him too."

"An officer, yeah. I don't know his name..."

"I knew him as Bernard. That guy just called him Adam though. Spence, what if he interferes with the investigation? They've already thrown your profile into disarray. If an unsub who doesn't act like they would insert themselves in an investigation does, how much havoc could they wreak?" Spencer fell silent.

"They'll find us," he whispered, and he knew they were both going into shock from the way they were shaking. He could feel the numbness. "They'll find us, Shawn."

* * *

"The profile makes no sense!" Morgan shouted, slamming his hands down on the table. Lassiter was cursing profusely and Juliet looked on the verge of tears, with JJ clutching her hand and looking about as good and Emily rubbing their shoulders. "Two unsubs? It's unrealistic that they would both have the exact same sexual obsession! Two unsubs both obsessed with one man? What are we missing?!"

"Maybe it's a dominant and submissive," Rossi suggested, trying to soothe Derek's anger.

"They escalated quickly," Hotch mumbled. "Tommy still hasn't turned up. They know of our presence."

"They're organized," Prentiss added. "They know what they're doing."

"Not well enough," Lassiter growled. "CSU pulled several partial prints."

"Garcia's running them now," Morgan grumbled. "But we may not get a hit."

"Sexual sadists don't climb to such intense crimes all at once. She'll get a hit," Hotch assured, though he felt doubtful himself.

"The bodies are dumped on hunting trails, right?" JJ looked up, her eyes rimmed with red. "Wouldn't it be safe to assume that they're holed up in a hunting cabin?"

"They could just as easily be in any of the many abandoned warehouses around the city," Morgan countered, frustrated.

"No, JJ's right," Rossi said. "We should look at empty cabins around where the bodies were dumped."

"Hold on." Morgan turned, shifting through the files. "I think that was in Reid's profile... Yeah, here." He pulled out a map and some notes, sifting through them and pointing to an area shaded green. "His notes say he and Shawn couldn't narrow the area because the bodies are spread across several mountain trails." He sighed, rubbing his face.

"Well, let's look at cabins along these trails first that are empty or private." Hotch held back a sigh.

"That's hundreds of cabins!" Juliet exclaimed. "Not to mention most of them are probably empty because of the time of year." Hotch pinched his nose. They were getting nowhere, and they all knew it.

"Morgan, you and Detective Lassiter work on the cabins. JJ, work with Detective O'Hara to try and find people who have expressed an unhealthy interest in Shawn. Rossi, Prentiss, let's go talk to his friend Gus, maybe he noticed something. Guys, keep this under wraps. Shawn and Reid thought that this was an inside job."

He got a round of nods and turned, squashing down his anger and fear. He needed to find Reid, this time before it was too late.


	10. Murder is Murder but Meth is also Murder

**AN: I'm so so so so so sorry. This chapter was really hard to write and school has been kicking my ass. I'm going to try to post the next chapter tomorrow but I can't promise you. Good news is there's only three or four chapters left! Then I'll write some more stuff, I have a lot of ideas.**

 **CHAPTER WARNING: IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT. NONE of it is graphic. NONE of it is explicit. It is IMPLIED, but if it makes you uncomfortable please read at your own volition! This chapter is very important, so if you can, I suggest you read it.**

 **Thank you for sticking with me!**

* * *

It was a curious and terrifying sensation.

Shawn had never experimented himself - he didn't need to be more aware of his surroundings than he already was, and it terrified him when his mind was muddled with something more than alcohol - and now he was wondering exactly how anyone could find the sensation of meth messing with their body pleasurable.

It was too hot, way too hot.

He couldn't stop from twitching. He wanted to _move_ ; that must be why he was called speed. A good part was that he no longer felt the desperate craving of hunger, but then again he also knew that was a bad thing because although he couldn't feel it his body desperately needed sustenance. He couldn't stop his eyes from darting around the room, noticing insignificant things like the pattern in the dust on the floor next to that guy's left knee, which looked like a German Sheppard, or the scratches on the wall on the other side of the room, which looked like someone had nearly torn their nails off trying to dig through the dirt. But his mind couldn't make sense of what he was seeing and so it pounded its unhappiness and drew a desperate groan. No, this was not pleasurable at all.

Sure, there was an initial rush that felt like he was floating above the ground, and a nauseating euphoria that made him question his own consciousness, but then the deep seated heat settled in and his heart began to drum his displeasure against his painfully (though not as painful anymore) aching ribs. His eyes blurred as sweat dripped down into them.

He could feel hot lips dragging against his skin but it didn't matter because at the moment he was fighting to drag in breath. His heart beat against his throat and tried to force the air back out of his lungs. He could hear Spencer wailing and thrashing, _too loud, much too loud_ , a sharp sound that drove into his skull like a knife, and he wanted to stop it but he couldn't. He couldn't even seem to remember what was going on around him except that he was slightly panicked and slightly happy. The needle-mark itched and his body twitched spasmodically as he moaned and laughed and whimpered. Nothing was doing what he wanted it to. Could he even move of his own volition anymore? Could he even think clearly enough to try?

Reid was distraught.

Meth was not the same as heroin. In fact, it was almost the exact opposite. The only thing that was the same was how they made him see things he didn't want to.

Dilaudid had made him feel slow and pleasantly sleepy. Meth made him feel twitchy and he could feel his blood pressure rise. The feeling of a foreign substance entering his veins made him panicky. The high that came almost immediately after didn't get rid of that feeling. The heat and pounding heartbeat that came after that only made it increase.

He had too move. He had to get rid of this heat, he had to slow his heartbeat, but he _had_ to move. He couldn't stop twitching, thrashing, screaming at the hallucinations to go away. His voice sounded far too loud to his own ears. His mind was working faster than ever and he couldn't even comprehend what he was taking in, what he was thinking. He could hear the sickening sound of skin against skin and vaguely knew what was happening but wasn't in control enough to process it. He could hear someone yelling at him and thought they were yelling at him, but he wasn't sure. At the moment, all he was thinking was Shakespeare: his brain had decided of its own volition to recite every play and sonnet he had ever read in chronological order of when they'd been written word for word... at about, let's say, 20,000 words a minute. Which, while reading that fast was fine, reciting that fast was much too fast, and he wailed his displeasure, trying to drown out his own droning mind. He was on sonnet 34 when he felt his neck snap to the side and his racing mind focused instead on the sickening crack the hit had made against his face, and the terrifying sound of metal sliding against leather, and the agonizing feeling of choking.

His eyes raced up and around but didn't focus on anything. He could feel too-hot tears streaming down his reddened face and desperately wanted them to stop, wanted the meth to stop, wanted the humiliation to stop. Perhaps a saving grace was that he was too drugged up to really comprehend what was happening, thrashing and coughing desperately. His mind continued with sonnet 35.

Shawn was in no pain now, and he thought that was a bad sign but really he couldn't remember right now because he was busy counting the knots in the wooden braces that held up the ceiling. He wasn't sure why but he thought it was important, and there were no hats here to count. But he knew there was something wrong, his body felt strange and heavy, and so he lifted his arms and kicked his legs, connecting with something that grabbed his wrists and held him. Aliens was the first thought that came to his mind, and he started to panic before laughing hysterically at what Gus' reaction would be to him being abducted by aliens. Yes, that explained the probing, aliens definitely explained it.

But even if this was an alien he was not the kind of person to go down without a fight. His father simply hadn't raised him that way. He kicked and bit and screeched angrily, fighting the faceless alien, because he couldn't seem to focus on the alien for more than a few seconds, though he thought it looked vaguely human. Spencer's yelling had stopped and he forgot for several long minutes that they had been abducted together, so he looked over and saw another alien attacking the young doctor. Now he really had to get free! He couldn't let them hurt Spencer, the young man was too kind, too innocent.

But his mind must've been moving too fast, or two slow, because the next thing he comprehended was absolute, mind-numbing darkness. And it was such a _relief_. The darkness felt so good against his eyes, within his head, cooling his far too hot body. He couldn't hold back the contented sigh at the silence and the darkness.

But he could hear Spencer sobbing and shifting, and that made him very sad, and very, very angry. He stood - his back and legs ached from the damn probing, he would make those aliens pay.

"Spencer." He winced harshly at his own voice. It was too loud, stabbing into his head, even at the whisper he had spoken in. He tried to lower it more. "Spencer, please. Did they hurt you? Are you okay?"

"I couldn't breathe!" Spencer sobbed, his voice equally quiet. "I couldn't breathe Shawn! H-He- His- In my thr-oat-" Reid raised his hands to his mouth, stifling himself, because his ears couldn't take anymore of his own wailing.

"It's okay," Shawn said angrily, swaying. "I'm going to get you out of here." He could feel hot, sickening rage pooling in his stomach as he carefully headed over to a different corner of the room where his inventory told him there was a small, rusted, bent nail. He picked it up, going back over to Spencer, who was attempting to stop crying.

His heart sank as he realized the chains were not handcuffs, as he expected them to be. Instead, they were metal that had been bolted together tightly around Reid's wrists and neck, and would be impossible to remove without tools. Both of them flinched and looked up as they heard a helicopter slowly pass overhead. Hope filled Reid.

"They're looking!" he whispered. "They're looking for us!"

"There's hundreds of cabins though. They won't find us. We have to contact them." He glanced around nervously, listening closely. There wasn't any noise upstairs, but that didn't mean anything. "I'm... I'm going to pick the lock on the door. I'll call them, I'll call help. And I'll be back. I can't get you out of those." Spencer nodded diplomatically.

"Don't get caught. I think the drug is finally wearing off and... And I'm s-scared to be like that again." Shawn shuddered, identifying with the feeling, and nodded before creeping up the stairs.

* * *

"I have helicopters searching the cabins for signs of activity," Karen Vick stated as she entered the conference room. "That doesn't mean they'll find anything, but I have to do something." Hotch nodded, focusing intensely. Morgan, Rossi and Prentiss were bouncing around profile ideas. Everyone jumped when Juliet ran in, practically shouting, Lassiter following after her with a bewildered expression.

"I've got it!" she cried before slamming her hands down on the table. "I've got it! It's the drugs, that's the missing piece. We're all forgetting that!"

"O'Hara, calm down. Talk to us," Lassiter said calmly, though his voice was tinged with urgency.

"It's the meth," she responded, looking Hotch straight in the eye. "You said there's someone in the department, right? Well, what if this isn't related to drug activity at all!"

"The gang unit?" Lassiter asked slowly, finally getting on the same page. "McNab!" he shouted out the door, and the rookie came running eagerly, his eyes tinged red from crying. "Check to see if any of the confiscated drugs from the gang unit are missing from lockup. Keep it on the down-low."

Juliet was still staring straight at Hotch, not breaking eye contact. "Sir, we should check cabins with those that have been rented to the people in the gang unit or those suspected of being related to drug activity." But Morgan was already on the phone, relaying the information hurriedly to Garcia.

Vick was proud of O'Hara. But the girl still looked anxious, biting her lip - she supposed that was understandable. Everyone looked up as the conference room telephone rang, and Hotch and Rossi shared a look. Rossi reached out and pressed the speaker button.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank God," Shawn breathed, nearly sobbing. His legs were trembling so much he was sure he would collapse, and he didn't want to cause noise, so instead he sank to the floor. That small action combined with the relief of contact made him burst into tears. "I didn't- I didn't think there would be reception- I-"

"Shawn!" Juliet nearly screamed, stepping closer to the phone. "Shawn, where are you?!"

"Spencer, are you alright?" Lassiter asked with something that was almost concern. Hotch held up a hand, trying to keep them from panicking the man.

"I don't know when they'll be back... Ambulances, w-we'll- Spencer needs an ambulance, I think I p-probably do t-too-"

"You think?" Prentiss was concerned.

"I don't know, I don't know. I can't feel it right now. Shhh, shut up, I- I don't know where they are. Like, ten minutes ago we heard a helicopter. P-Please... We're in the mountains somewhere. I haven't heard any cars. I c-can't get Spencer out, I t-tried-" He broke down again, trying to stifle his sobs as reality was coming back to him much quicker than it had left. "Please... Before they come back, don't let them touch us again. It's Bernard, Agent Bernard... Y-you gotta stop him, man, he hates me, h-he might kill Spence-"

"Calm down, we're on our way," Rossi soothed as Hotch whirled into action. "How bad is Reid hurt?" Shawn tried to get his breathing under control as his ribs were starting to ache again, sniffling.

"Not too bad. He was beaten on the way here and he..." His eyes widened as his mind began to whirl. "Oh God, he said that... no way..."

"What, what's wrong?" Rossi tried to stall his fluttering heart.

"Bernard... Bernard-"

" _What the fuck?_ " Shawn couldn't help but jump as the harsh voice shouted behind him. He turned to see his still-unnamed assailant and his body began to involuntarily tremble. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I'm- I-" For once he had nothing to say. His mind was completely frozen. He was terrified. He could hear Agent Rossi yelling on the other end of the line.

"Do you want them to hear you that badly?! Fine!" Bernard, Adam, whoever he was, entered behind the man, and his face looked murderous. Shawn was too scared to even move as they hauled him to his feet and dragged him back downstairs, the phone still clutched in his hand. Spencer was screaming at them, cussing and thrashing, and he could make out Juliet's voice through the phone.

But there was pain. Indescribable, tearing pain, and he couldn't stop himself from screaming anymore. He screeched and begged while Adam held him harshly and hands pulled his hair and lips roamed. " _Stop it! Please stop it! Make them stop! Oh God!_ "

Humiliation was washed away by the tears and pain. He could hear Spencer begging too, crying along with him, and he hated it. He wanted to be saved. He had done everything right, he had called for help - twice now - he hadn't provoked them, he hadn't lost control.

They would still be too late. They would still find them dead.

And he cried.


	11. Much Worse than it Needed to Be

**AN: Haha, hi... So, whenever I see HappyNerd92 has reviewed it makes me really super happy (I post a chapter like "will they review this one?!") so I owe you an explanation... I wrote about half this chapter and literally despised it. I ended up deleting it, writing it again, and deleting it again before settling on this, which I still don't like very much. It didn't turn out how I wanted. Also, Wednesday was the last day before Christmas Break, so I had a ton of projects and tests (senior year sucks). So, I know, sucky excuses, but I didn't give up on this. Instead I've been writing the first few chapters to the sequel I had planned, so two more chapters of this (probably, maybe more) and sequel! Please don't kill me. I'm really happy if you've stuck with this fic this long. I'll try to finish this before New Year's. I'm so sorry I haven't been able to keep my update schedule, but I hope you like this chapter even though I don't.**

.

He couldn't stand the begging, the screaming, the crying. The sound of flesh against flesh. Knowing what his friend was witnessing, and knowing what would happen if his colleagues didn't make it in time. What was worse was it left nothing to the imagination, he could hear it all. He wanted to hang up the phone, but he knew he couldn't. He had to verify they were still alive. He was selfishly glad and immensely guilty that he could tell it wasn't happening to Reid.

"You have to hurry, Aaron," Rossi urged into his cell phone, trying to keep hold of what little composure he had. "I don't know how long they have. I just know one of them said they're leaving as soon as they're finished and bailing out of there."

"Driving regularly it's an hour away, Dave, it's going to take time no matter what," Hotch responded even as he urged Morgan to step on it. Prentiss was looking distinctly sick, and JJ was forcing back tears. She had gotten close to Juliet and Shawn, and knew more about Reid than most of them, but Hotch was glad to see her keeping her composure.

" _No!_ " Rossi suddenly heard Reid let out in a heart-lurching shriek, and he felt his hands begin to shake. He braced himself against the table, his knuckles white. " _No more! I don't want it! I don't want it!_ " Shawn was sobbing somewhere close to the mouthpiece, hysterical, and Rossi felt some of that hysteria himself.

"Hotch, something's happening! You need to get there!"

"Morgan!"

"I'm going as fast as I can, Hotch! We're on a mountain, it won't do them any good if we crash."

" _No no no-_ " Shawn was mumbling weakly, desperate sobs cracking his voice. " _Stop it, get away. Get away from us_. _Don't touch him-_ " His voice held no strength and Rossi felt his heart breaking.

"Hotch-"

"We're five minutes out, Dave. What's happening?"

"I don't know. Something bad."

And suddenly the line went dead and Rossi felt his stomach lurch. "Hotch, get there fast. The phone just died."

"Morgan, take that five minutes and make it two."

"I'm trying, Hotch."

Then the area in front of the small cabin was filled with a flurry of movement, people leaping out of cars and pulling guns, and Lassiter arguing with Henry Spencer, who had somehow found out about the whole thing. Hotch and Vick called orders and vests were strapped in place. Juliet, JJ, and Lassiter took the back door, and Morgan, Hotch, and Prentiss took the front.

There were bursting doors and shouts of "Clear!" and a muffled wailing beneath their feet that none of them wanted to think about. Lassiter and Hotch took positions on either side of the doorway to the basement, with four other guns trained on the as of now closed entrance. It wasn't closed for long, and the shotgun was only pointed at Lassiter's nose for a moment before Juliet's instincts made her pull her trigger quickly, twice, and the man dropped like a stone. Lassiter knelt to check his pulse and muttered "Gone. It's Bernard." He stepped back from the doorway to let the agents pass.

Shoulders were tense as they stepped over the corpse and crept down the stairs. Reid's crying grated on the BAU's ears, while Shawn could be heard grunting and coughing. JJ flicked on the lights while Hotch trained his eyes on the figure strangling Shawn Spencer, psychic detective, to death.

"This is the FBI. Step back and put your hands where I can see them."

That did not happen.

Lassiter and Morgan both shouted warnings, but it was Prentiss who pulled the trigger, shouting "Are you going to let him die?!" The man collapsed with a shriek on top of Shawn, who gasped in a breath and immediately began to sob.

"Get 'im off me get 'im off me get 'im off me-" Morgan and Juliet rushed forward, rolling the groaning unsub off the hysterical psychic. The tirade did not stop as Shawn sat up and started rubbing at the places on his skin where the man's blood had splattered, his eyes screwed shut.

"Shawn!" Henry rushed forward, kneeling next to his son and putting a hand on his arm. "He's gone, he's off you-" He involuntarily moved away when Shawn flinched hard. Reid was sobbing.

"Let me out, please let me out guys..."

It took Morgan a total of five minutes to find some tools and remove the shackles, during which Juliet sought out a blanket and wrapped it around the still trembling and hysterical Shawn. Reid leapt up, scrambling to Shawn.

"Shawn... S-Shawn, it's okay now." Shawn nodded, then shook his head, groaning and clutching it tightly. He had his eyes closed. He was noticing too much again, his mind couldn't handle the overload.

"Stop," he said weakly. "Stop talking. Turn off the light, please." He leaned over, suddenly noticing the smell of blood, and vomited. The sound and smell set Reid off, and then he was heaving up his stomach as well, clutching Morgan's arm.

Both were weak and shaky. Shawn flinched whenever a male touched him, and kept his eyes closed tightly and his hands over his ears. Reid stood unsteadily, stumbling to Hotch and clinging to his shirt, his eyes closed tightly as well.

"I knew it," he whispered. "I knew you'd find us."

"Spencer-" Hotch caught Reid's elbows, keeping him from tipping over, and squashed his own panic. "Spencer, what's wrong?" Rossi was yelling in his ear but he couldn't answer, focusing on Reid. JJ and Emily were next to Juliet, trying to calm down Shawn, who had begun to draw pictures in the dirt at his feet, his eyes glazed over.

"Meth," Reid breathed, and Hotch felt his heart jump.

"Is it an overdose?" He glanced over at Morgan, who was on the phone and looked just as worried, mouthing 'I called a bus,' but Reid shook his head, moaning.

"Sensory overload," Henry Spencer gasped, and Hotch was surprised he was still standing considering he looked like he had aged ten years in two seconds; though he doubted he looked any better. "It happens to Shawn with some ADHD medications - the have amphetamines in them. I don't know why it's happening to the kid though." Hotch nodded, understanding, and Prentiss stood.

"I'll go get some cloths with water to put over their eyes," she whispered as Hotch quieted the room.

"Hats," Shawn mumbled, glancing at his dad, who blinked in realization, looking at Hotch.

"Does the kid have photographic memory?" The nod in response was enough, and Henry nodded back. "That's why."

"Shawn?" Jules whispered quietly, rubbing the psychic's shoulder. "Shawn, are you hurt?" He nodded in response, looking near tears and broken. Juliet bit her lip and JJ put a hand on her arm.

"Shawn." JJ spoke now, very softly. "In a few minutes, there are going to be paramedics in here. They might make a lot of noise and touch you a lot. Is that okay?"

"No," both Shawn and Reid said firmly, looking over at her, seeming panicked.

And it was then that everyone realized this was much worse than it seemed.


	12. We're All Alright

**AN: Alright alright, I know this is a crappy and anticlimactic ending. I've been feeling like shit the past two days and I haven't been able to come up with a good ending for y'all. But, I'm going to post the first chapter to my new fic (the sequel to this one) right after this goes up as a Christmas present and an apology. Again, I'm really sorry about this ending. I hope you don't hate it too much, I know it doesn't do the story justice. I might come back and update it if I'm feeling better.**

* * *

The hardest part was not convincing Shawn to let the paramedics touch him, as they thought it would be. The hardest part was convincing Reid to let anyone except the girls and Hotch within three feet of Shawn. While eventually the psychic calmed down, pressing his hand over the cloth on his eyes and curling up under the blanket while Jules stroked his hair, Reid seemed only to get more riled up, and these two things combined managed to concern every person in the room. It was like the boys had switched personalities, and now Reid wouldn't stop yelling and bouncing off the walls while Shawn just seemed to want to be left alone.

And then there were the paramedics, and boy was that a mess.

Not only was Reid adamantly proclaiming he _wouldn't_ under _any circumstances_ let them touch him or Shawn, he physically _blocked_ them from getting to Shawn, who, for his part, didn't seem to care, with Emily's hands pressed over his ears to block out the noise. Hotch, for _his_ part, was alarmed at the behavior his younger coworker was displaying, and he could tell Morgan was as well - past the hurt that was displayed on the man's face when he realized Reid flinched whenever he got near. It was understandable, but still hurt.

It was Shawn himself who managed to calm Spencer down. JJ saw him sigh, and then he lifted the cloth off his eyes, slowly detangling himself from Emily and Jules, calling quietly "Spencer. Spence, it's over. Man, we gotta let it go so we can start getting better."

And they both broke down.

Hotch held Reid while the paramedics tended to a thoroughly embarrassed Shawn, who couldn't seem to get his tears to stop, and absolutely _did not_ want to drop the blanket from around his shoulders, and literally couldn't stop flinching whenever one moved too fast, and it didn't help that they were both guys, because _of course_ they had to be, after the day - _was it really only a day?_ \- he'd had. Reid sobbed and apologized and Hotch, for the life of him, couldn't understand why. Logically, of course, he knew it had to be something like survivor's guilt, he'd seen it before in victims, but logic just didn't seem to be working right now, and instead he was petrified, confused, and trying to keep up the facade that he was the leader the rest of the team needed, because right now they looked about near tears too.

JJ and Emily, to give Reid some space he supposed, focused their attentions on Shawn, soothing him and his father, who still wouldn't get within three feet of the boy (for a good reason, Hotch thought, as the boy looked like he could be made of glue and glass). Juliet O'Hara, a wonderful detective in Hotch's eyes and clearly loving towards Shawn, forced back her tears with harsh swallows and soft laughs as Shawn tried to joke, but his voice was sharp and broken and it was hard to see humor in a situation like this when there was a man being processed for kidnap and rape and another dead at the top of the stairs. But whenever Juliet forced on a smile Shawn looked a little better and Hotch saw it for what it was - coping. And he didn't doubt that Shawn would be alright. No, he wouldn't be the same, but he would be alright nonetheless.

Reid was different. Especially after the last time something like this happened.

He didn't know if he would be alright. Not only did he look like shit from being beaten, it was clear it pained him to witness what had happened and been able to do nothing about it. And maybe that was the worst part, because Hotch hadn't even witnessed it, but he knew he should've stopped it. They should've been able to stop it somehow. Reid shouldn't've had to save himself... _again_.

So he really wondered if Reid would be alright. But when Shawn called to him quietly and soothed him, Hotch knew it was different. Reid wasn't worried about himself, he was worried about this man who was seemingly his complete opposite that had inexplicably become his friend.

The hospital was terrible, but that was mostly because neither man could take the lights, the sounds. Their pupils were dilated so wide it was a serious conclusion that their eyes had been black all along and their friends simply hadn't noticed. The worst part was the doctors wouldn't do anything - the dose wasn't lethal, they wanted it to leave the system naturally.

It was Henry Spencer who took over then, buying earplugs and getting cloths for their eyes and grabbing heavy blankets from his truck that soothed with their weight. And then he settled in for the long haul, holding his son's hand tightly, and for the first time since she'd known him Juliet was afraid he would cry. They didn't need the doctors to tell them what happened, they didn't need the rape kit to confirm their fears. It was clear in the way both boys acted, and it was _terrifying_.

It was unexpected, but not unwelcome, then, when the team returned to the hospital a week later to retrieve Reid, to find him sat up next to Shawn's bed, both of them playing poker and laughing like they had nothing to care about in the world, while Juliet held Shawn's shoulder and his father and Gus bantered back and forth with the two geniuses.

And sure, it was scary, but then they knew that everything was going to be okay.


End file.
